No Such Thing As Heaven
by Black Waltz 0
Summary: [WA3] Tragic satire of Stephen King's 'The Shining'. Clive Winslett is a moody alcoholic charged with taking care of Gunner's Heaven, but there is an evil within that place, and it wants Kaitlyn, and her power, for itself...
1. Pt I: Prefatory Matters, Job Interview

No Such Thing As Heaven

A Wild Arms III Fanfiction By:

Black Waltz 0

A/N: This is a fic that's been wandering around my brain since October of last year, but I've finally gotten everything straightened out to write about it. This is also a ploy to beat my writer's block upside the head, so let's hope that it works too. In essence, this is a Wild Arms 3 serious satire of Stephen King's 'The Shining', retold and redesigned by me. As such, the original concept is Mr. King's works and not my own. That part belongs to him, and the game of WA3 belongs to Media Vision. I own nothing. Nothing! Anywho, please sit down and enjoy.

For meteor9, who deserves more.

xxx

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Chapter One, Job Interview.

Duke Cain Begucci was probably the only person on the planet of Filgaia capable of turning a dungeon room into a fully functional office. He was a tall and well dressed man, efficiently groomed in the proper manner of his upper class, though age had withered his frame somewhat and had given him the deficient label of old man, he was still not quite _that_ old, not just yet. Clive felt a little uncomfortable sitting on the opposite side of the duke's polished redwood desk, both his hands relaxed against the cushioned leather arm rests of his chair, though they did want to grip the expensive material, a testament to Clive's desire to not be there at all. The duke was a snide and bad-tempered old man, as his reputation had dictated, and Clive had called him over and over in his mind; _Uppity son of a bitch_.

The older man was sitting cross-legged over on his side of the desk, his hands laced together while he rested them on the wooden surface by his elbows. He had very dull, bitter brown eyes. These were trained on Clive in concentrated, though not very deep thought. "Are you listening to what I am saying, Mr. Winslett? These are very important matters that we are discussing here. I don't want to see a discrepancy in your understanding to mine."

Clive looked up suddenly in response to the duke's voice, off in his own little world for a few blank moments. He smiled apologetically, though incredibly falsely, like he was putting on some kind of invisible congenial mask. "I am very sorry, sir. I was thinking." This was a very lame excuse for him to throw forward, especially when his one great chance lay in the outcome of this meeting. It would affect him, his family and his career and determined if they would flounder or not. Clive pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and continued. "Please understand how grateful I am for you allowing me this opportunity. I cannot thank you enough for this gesture."

__

You uppity son of a bitch… He continued in his mind.

"You had better stop thanking me and thank your old friend Berlitz instead, he is the only reason I am allowing your services instead of a more capable individual. Honestly, I believe there are many who can do a finer job than you." Clive clenched his hands slightly, biting his nails into the gaudy red leather arm rests. "However," The duke pressed, "I do owe Berlitz a favor at this time and he expressed his wishes that you be given this particular position and job. Be thankful you have friends in high places, Mr. Winslett." Before Clive could reply, Cain Begucci changed the subject, taking a handful of paper off his desk and reading over them in-between his hands. "Now about this job. You say you are bringing your wife and child with you as well?"

Clive nodded. "Indeed. I thought it would be an economically sound choice to allow them to stay with me, and you have stated that this may be a better job for more of a family man. I do not think I could manage such a large castle like this without somebody by my side to help and comfort me. I do not mind being the Gunner's Heaven caretaker for the winter months as long as I am not cut off from the rest of my family. Call me a sentimental man, but that is what I believe." He looked down at his wristwatch. It was one-thirty, he was running late. Kaitlyn and Catherine would probably be wondering if he had left yet.

Opening up a large blueprint for the design of the castle, the duke took out a red pen and circled some of the areas down in the basement, running parallel to most of the corridors and in some of the lower cell areas. He began to explain. "The Gunner's Heaven is quite a large attraction to many people over the course of the year. There is a part of each human's mind, no matter what, that revels in the sight of blood, destruction, and conflict. Gunner's Heaven caters to that whim, however we are quite sure to guarantee a fighter's life in the ring. It is only the monsters that suffer loss of life, it has been a good thirty years since a gladiator has fallen in the midst of a battle."

"I understand the, ahem, 'product' you sell to violence voyeurs and sadists, Mr. Begucci." Clive affirmed with distaste, being a generally non-violent man in essence. "My personal opinion has no standing here, despite my next profession, so I will not insult your business. You were probably expecting me to, correct? There has been some monster rights activists around in the past five years, I believe. Perhaps you thought I was one of them?"

"Not so." The duke argued carefully. "Forgive me for blowing my own horn, but I am quite proud of Gunner's Heaven's achievements. My own father could never have done as well I as have. But that is not the issue. Allow me to continue." He pointed to the red circles on the blueprints. "I have chosen to close down my Gunner's Heaven during the winter months for many reasons. Namely, I believe a greater revenue will come to me if I starve my clients for a few months each year, just long enough to make them nearly mad for the fight. Then, when I reopen, I can be assured a much greater, or more zealous number of clients. It is a simple matter of marketing, really, just like drying out one accustomed to the presence of drink." The duke looked up at Clive and smiled with a slow sarcastic grin. "Isn't that right, Mr. Winslett?"

Clive stiffened and smiled falsely again, still trying to remain genial. His voice was a little clipped, knowing that the duke was playing with and prying into his past. "I assume Berlitz has told you about my alcoholism, then? Those days are behind me now. I have not touched a drop of drink for nearly three years and I take pride in that. I am a drunk no longer."

"Berlitz has assured me of this. You dried out at the same time together, I believe. How interesting." Cain laughed a little, but it did not hold any warmth. "I am deviating from my original topic. You must warn me of these things, Mr. Winslett, or else I could go on all day. Now let me see…" He looked up into the air a bit in thought, then dived down into technical matters. "I enjoy my winter months down in the warmth of Southfarm. I own a large townhouse there and I take my wife and children with me, so there is nobody left to perform maintenance and keep my dear Gunner's Heaven in proper order. Ortega, my groundskeeper would happily continue his job throughout the whole year, but he is getting older and there are limits to what he can do these days."

"And this is where I come in." Clive presumed.

"Of course." The duke concurred. "Why else would you be sitting at my desk for?" He laughed again, louder this time, amused at his own wit. Calming down, he pulled back a drawer of his desk and searched though it, finding a packet of cigarettes and then lighting one. Clive wrinkled his nose in distaste. It smelt awful. "During the winter months Gunner's Heaven becomes quite inaccessible to your average traveler. The train services of Sunset Peak close down and it usually takes about a half day to reach the nearest town on foot, and nearly three hours on horseback. Should you accept this job, Mr. Winslett, you must be prepared to be totally isolated for the duration of those three months."

"Which is the reason why I intend to bring my family with me. Catherine and Kaitlyn are both remarkably resourceful people, I am sure the three of us will have a wonderful time with this big castle all to ourselves. We will not get bored throughout the winter. I have my theorems to work on along with some notes. I also intend to teach Kaitlyn how to read, horseback ride, and possibly even fire a gun. You know, all the things that a father must teach their child." Clive's false smile became real for a few warm moments, then disappeared again. "The winter will pass very quickly for us. It will be over before we know it."

"There are things you must be wary of, such as the isolation, the quiet, and the chance of cabin fever." The duke's eyes became distant for a little while. "It can be… most unpleasant…"

"That will not happen if we keep ourselves busy. Everything will be fine." Clive reiterated, intrigued at the unusual look in the duke's eyes. "The importance of my family in this is quite great. Recent… financial troubles are making it difficult for us. Isolation would be paramount presently."

Cain came back to reality rather quickly. "Oh yes." He agreed, "Your family may help you with the caretaking as well. Perhaps your wife and daughter could do the cleaning while you get to the repair work?" He seemed satisfied with his own idea, "Be mindful of this, though. The monsters are housed in the basement and dungeon respectively. I strongly advise you to keep your family away from there, it would not be particularly safe for them."

"Duly noted." Said Clive, remembering some of his previous briefing. "I am to feed the monsters from the monster feed stalls, make sure the lighting is kept at a satisfactory level and make sure Gunner's Heaven does not become dilapidated. Then the rest of my time is up to myself."

"The pantry has been fully stocked with enough food to last you maybe six months at the most, just in case. It helps to take precautions. Our cook will give you a little run-down on the day before you begin. An empathite transistor is located on the second floor with enough power to be used consecutively for twelve hours or so. Please use it sparsely. Keep the rooms clean, and…" Cain lowered his voice a tone, leaning over and almost whispering to Clive, "There is one great holding cell at the back of the dungeon. I want you to make sure that the torches are _always_ burning down there, check four times a day. I cannot stress this matter enough."

"You have a beast in there that fears darkness?" Clive inquired.

"In a sense." The duke sighed, leaning back again. "I hope you now understand matters, Mr. Winslett. Please pack and return with your wife and daughter one month from today. I will be expecting you then, it is our last day open until next year." He pushed forward the blueprints with the red circles on them. "This indicates where torches should be kept burning at all times. Please keep this and memorize their locations. I am the master of Gunner's Heaven. I love it like my own children. I want you to take good care of it. I don't trust you as much as I would like, but I trust Berlitz and his judgment impeccably. Understand that."

Clive stood up, pocketing the document carefully. "I understand." He said, his smile as cheesily false as ever. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Duke Begucci."

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Uppity son of a bitch.

Clive was a very good liar.


	2. Pt I: Prefatory Matters, Little Twister

Chapter Two, Little Twister

The sun was beginning to set at five thirty, the shadows lengthening into dusk, and still Clive Winslett had yet to come home. Kaitlyn was sitting in the dusty gutter of the horse and carriage road, elbows resting on her legs with her small petite chin being supported by her hands. This town was large and unfamiliar to her, smelling of horses and gunpowder and coloured a dull dingy orangey brown. It was very different to her old and more familiar hometown, Humphrey's Peak, which had been green and gold and had smelt like wildflowers and water. She thought this change was a little disturbing yet interesting, the girl wondering what her parents had wanted to happen. That was not on her mind right now, however. Waiting for her daddy to come home was.

Catherine was sitting on the porch of the inn they were currently staying at, residing in an incredibly light doze. She had not been sleeping well as of late, what with all the uncertain moving around they had been doing and all the worries recent situations had placed upon her mind. A gentle breeze caused her eyes to flutter open and she got up from her half-reclining position on the porch loveseat, gently rubbing her eyes. She noticed Kaitlyn sitting out near the road with a concentrated, firm look in the girl's eyes, Kaitlyn stiffening every time a horse or a carriage drove by, in the hopes that her father might not be too far behind. She was little Kaitlyn Winslett, a girl waiting patiently and faithfully for her father to return, like a tiny solemn statue.

Catherine saw this and suddenly felt like crying.

She got up from her seat and made her way over to the steps of the porch, leaning against its roof-supporting pole and blinking back tears. Clive had such pride! Look at what he was doing to his family! He could have merely _asked_ Berlitz for some money, she knew her father would have been more than happy to aid them when they needed it the most, but Clive would have none of it. His pride prevented him to take money unless he had earned it, and so this next unusual job, arranged by Berlitz as it had been, was the closest thing Clive could do to accept charity from another. He had pulled his family from their comfortable life in Humphrey's Peak and they had entered a far more nomadic one now, where Clive did whatever he could to make a couple of extra bucks. The reason for their move had been a complete accident, but the fault remained his.

Clive and his pride.

"Kaitie honey, what are you doing?" The brown haired woman asked, moving down the steps and taking a seat next to her daughter, sitting on the edge of the gutter and near the hoofprinted street.

The little girl looked up and smiled at her mother, though the smile was automatic and activated in reflex to Catherine's voice. She held her smile at her mother for awhile, then redirected it back into the street. "I'm waiting for daddy, mommy. Daddy said he'd be back when I can see the stars in the sky. So…" Kaitlyn concluded her thought, "I'm waiting for daddy _and_ the stars."

Catherine looked up, observing the sky. Evenings came early during this season, but still, it would at least be another hour or two until the first star would come out. Clive would have to have taken the express from Sunset Peak all the way over to Westwood Station, and then he'd have to horseback ride from there into town. That could take hours, even if the trains were running perfectly fine. Catherine hoped that Clive would come home soon, not because she personally missed his presence, but because she didn't want to have to see Kaitlyn's little face break down into disappointment. "That will be awhile, Kaitie honey. Are you sure you don't want to come inside and read your book? It will make the time go faster."

"No thanks, mommy." Kaitlyn replied without turning around. "I just wanna wait for daddy. He's gonna come down that road," She pointed to the main street, "Walking next to his horse. Daddy can't ride it all the way, he said that the bitch would break in two if he tried that."

"Kaitlyn, don't say words like that." Catherine warned, dismayed.

"What words like that?" Kaitlyn asked, genuinely confused. "'Break in two'?"

"Words like 'bitch'. It is not a very nice word at all. Little girls should not say it." Answered Catherine, talking kindly, yet firmly.

"But that's what daddy said this morning when was he putting the big seat on his horse." Kaitlyn explained to her mother in a perplexed tone. "That's what he said. Isn't daddy nice?" The little girl lowered one eyebrow slightly, as if disapproving of what her mother was trying to say.

"Those words are for grown ups to say, Kaitlyn. Even then, it is preferable if they are not spoken out loud or to other people. Your daddy can say them if he really does want to, but he's also very careful not to say it to the wrong people. Besides, your daddy isn't a little girl, is he?" Catherine smiled. Kaitlyn processed this for a few moments and burst into a fit of giggles, understanding what her mother meant. She decided to do what she was told, as it wouldn't hurt anybody that way. Putting her arms around her knees, Kaitlyn rocked back and forth a bit, sweeping her gaze along the length of the street. Catherine noticed this. "Do you miss home, Kaitlyn?" She asked softly.

Kaitlyn shook her head calmly. "Not really. Only a little. I miss Mock and Sterling and our little flower garden out back, but it's not that bad. I wanna follow where daddy goes." Catherine had only seen a few children in this town so far, and to her eyes they were just orphans and vagrants, scruffy and dirty and probably full of disease. It was a terrible thought to acknowledge, but those children were a lot like rats living and searching for food in the gutter of life. She hated it, but was so very grateful that Kaitlyn did not have to live a life that terrible and that she could be happy. Apart from that, she had not seen another young soul so far.

"Mommy, how come daddy was exiled from town?" The little girl asked suddenly, from out of the blue.

Catherine blinked once to allow the question to fully penetrate her brain. She and Clive had spent a good long time trying to find an answer that would be both the truth, but not as painful as it should have been, mild enough for Kaitlyn to hear. Catherine had forged many different answers herself, but wished that Clive was around to speak on her behalf. She sighed and put her arm around her little daughter, her gaze shifting towards the ground. "Kaitlyn, do you remember the purple-haired lady that lived down the road, the one who worked in that big lab with lots of different kinds of vials?"

The little girl nodded. "I know her. Sometimes Mock and I'd lose our ball in Ms. Melody's backyard and she'd go and get it for us. She was a nice lady, but sometimes she said mean things to other grown ups when me, Mock and the others weren't around."

"She and your daddy used to do their jobs close to one another, they were _colleagues_." Catherine continued, slowing down her pronunciation of the word so that Kaitlyn could properly memorize and understand it. "But she didn't like your daddy very much. Your daddy didn't really like her either. Last year they found out some things that would make them both very rich, and bring everybody lots of money, so they went out with the rest of their group to celebrate. All of them drank far too much that night."

Kaitlyn immediately started to pay twice as much attention than she had been doing before. She knew what that last part was about, it was about the-  
**_(Bad painful screaming anger up my hand up my arm in my daddy's face he's angry but he's smiling and it hurts hurts hurts)  
_**-Bad Thing that daddy did sometimes, that it was something he couldn't help but was trying to help with all his heart and soul. The rest of the story was particularly interesting to her as well, as neither of her parents had had the courage to answer this question for her before.

"They had a big party that night but your daddy behaved well. But not very long after that, Melody contacted the police and told them that your daddy had… uh… _'hurt'_ her when he hadn't, and he got in very big trouble for it."

Rape…

"How come he got in trouble for it when daddy didn't hurt her?" Came Kaitlyn's meek question, wondering why.

"It took a long time for them to prove it, Kaitie honey, to prove that your daddy wasn't a bad man. We all knew he was innocent but there had to be proof as well. Daddy's reputation suffered a lot because of it, even though he didn't do a thing to her. Then, he started to drink a lot more and he got very angry with her. The drink made him hit her a lot and shake her. Sometimes… sometimes he does things that he's sorry for later-  
**_(Mommy it HURTS!)  
_**"-And sometimes he does things that he can't take back. That's why everybody in the town decided that it would be best if he just left. And we went with him." Catherine bit back another wave of sad tears when Kaitlyn seemed to comprehend her jumbled explanation, the girl looking down the road again. Her grey eyes looked big and older than the young eight year-old who owned them, the girl narrowing them slightly.

"It's just like the paper dollies…" Kaitlyn agreed in a whispery voice, nodding her head. "Okay." She nodded her head one more time, like it was a natural function, and just like that, it was like she had locked up the topic and sealed it with an iron padlock and key, before throwing it away. Catherine didn't want to push the topic any further than she had to. If Kaitlyn was satisfied with her answer, then that was good enough for her.

The brown haired woman stood up, brushing the rising dust from the front of her dress. "I am going to go inside and get dinner ready, Kaitie honey. Come in when you think you've had enough. I'll leave a snack out for you, just in case." She paused, then added. "Are you sure you don't want to come in?"

"I wanna wait for daddy." Kaitlyn replied with wistful childlike determination.

"Stay away from the horses, Kaitlyn." Catherine sighed, turning and going back up the porch steps again, brushing chestnut hair away from her face that was somewhat messy due to her short little nap.

"Mommy?"

Catherine paused, the turned. "Yes Kaitlyn?"

She had her hands on her knees, her hair parted on either sides of her little face, held in place by two ribbons. Her grey eyes, which were usually reflective and sparkly, were wide and deep, like they were trying to look far into Catherine's inside. "Do you wanna go and live in the big monster castle like grandpa arranged it?" She asked, tentatively.

Like with the last question, Catherine had many different answers for this one as well. There were her thoughts about safety, about the loneliness, about Kaitlyn's happiness, about Clive's happiness, about her own desire, and which decision was best. In truth, her opinion was constantly changing regarding the old Gunner's Heaven, and whether Clive' pride was of greater importance than her own peace of mind.

Clive and his pride.

"If that what your daddy wants to do, then it is what I want to do too." She said, disliking the answer. A few seconds of thought, then she spoke again. "Kaitlyn? What about you?"

She shrugged. "I don't mind, mommy. I wanna stay with you and daddy. There aren't any kids around here anyway."

Going back over to Kaitlyn, Catherine knelt a little and patted Kaitlyn softly on the head, feeling her pretty golden curls that were like soft strands of spun gold. It was dulling a little as she got older, but it was still beautiful nevertheless. "You miss your friends…" Catherine stated guiltily. "Don't worry, once we are finished with the big castle, we will be able to go somewhere where you can meet some new friends."

Kaitlyn grinned, liking that idea. "Okay, mommy."

Catherine went indoors. The small kitchen within their tiny inn room was somehow tragic and sad, tucked away from the rest of the rest of the room like a hated pariah. The woman stood on the verge of the dreary navy blue carpeting, almost standing on the cold kitchen tiles. Her hands were by her sides. Looking carefully over everything, one single solitary dinner plate was wedged into the pathetic sink diagonally, the only way that the plate could fit in there. A cobweb had been spun and discarded between the plate's surface and the side of the sink, the occupant of the web having departed a long time ago.

This was too much for her and Catherine broke down, crying for all that had happened in the past, what was happening to her dear sweet family in the present, and what lay in store for them in the future.


	3. Pt I: Prefatory Matters, Ortega

Chapter Three, Ortega

Clive remembered his own words.

I am a drunk no longer.

It was getting late. Clive should have been on the train ten minutes ago, but there was more for him to do. The caretaker for the other three months, Ortega, a tall chestnut haired man in his late forties with lines all throughout his face from either smiling or frowning too much was leading him around the dungeon area, a burning torch in one hand. Clive was also carrying one, as he didn't trust the darkness around him and he wished to be protected. They were going down a long corridor with jail-like cells passing them on either side, the sound of dripping water and the smell of mould and dried blood prominent to his senses. Once or twice Clive could have sworn that he had seen a bone or two lying down within the vagueness of a cell half obscured by shadow, but dismissed the sighting as merely his mind playing tricks on him. He was liable to do that, sometimes.

I am a drunk no longer.

(Kaitlyn? Oh gods, what did I…)

"There's seventy eight cells in here, not counting the large one at the back. Each cell needs to have a torch burning on either side of the jail bars, that'll give the place enough room to see by. Ain't nothing worse than coming down here and breaking your neck on a slippery stair, just because you couldn't see where you were going. Don't worry about having to go inside any of those cells by the way, you can leave them as they are, unless you're an overzealous cleaner or anything. Frankly, I wouldn't step into one of those unless I absolutely had to, don't wanna get three hundred year old monster turds all over my boots. This is the vacant block. The monsters are on the other side of the Heaven. You know you're supposed to feed them?"

"Yes. Once a day, except on Sundays when it is twice a day." Clive would have nodded silently, except that Ortega was in the lead and he would not have seen the act anyway. Mostly, his thoughts were elsewhere. Somewhere far away. Clive needed a drink.

I am …

(It was years and years ago, back when Kaitlyn was just a little blonde-curled toddler, the perfect image of a baby girl. She had been playing with blocks near to where Clive had been working on his Filgaia theory, pages spread out all over the table. Years and years of hard, thankless work. He had been drinking something strong while he was organizing his notes, it helped him to think better, however he had been doing this for awhile and he was actually quite tipsy now, enough to _know_ that he was drunk. Catherine had popped her head into the room to say that somebody was at the door for him, and when Clive took that call and returned… when he did that… 

Kaitlyn had found the scissors and had turned most of his portfolio into a family of thin paper dollies, tattooed all over with carefully inked and thought-out words. She was smiling proudly, the act of creation a new and enthralling one to Kaitlyn's little life. The rest of the papers were scattered all over the floor, cut into ribbons by the scissors in the girl's tiny hands. She must have made them into confetti and then thrown them up into the air, to watch them fall like snow. _Like snow._ She looked up, beamed, and then said something to her daddy, though Clive for the life of him couldn't remember what it was. She had probably asked if he had liked them or not.

He sunk to the floor quickly, sitting indian-style at the low table at which Kaitlyn was doing also, knocking over the dregs that had still been left in his whiskey glass onto the floor. His voice, slow and slurry, his breath reeking, he reached his hand out, hovering over Kaitlyn's own. "Kaitlyn… what did you…"

She pushed the biggest and most well-made paper dolly over to her father's side of the table, grinning. "I made it just for you!" She said.

From those words something deep and hot hatched within him, nurtured and nourished by the drink. Intense hatred for the girl instantly sprung from inside him, like a leopard leaping from a bushy cover, and his large hand closed into a fist over hers. Clive smiled as a reaction to the anger, his whole mind foggy and not all there. With all the strength in his arm possessed, he brought his fist down hard on Kaitlyn's hand, a punishment for wrecking years and years of work. He hoped it smarted, hoped she wouldn't be able to use it for a day or so, that would teach her a lesson all right.

What he didn't expect to hear was the quiet frail crunching sound of something small and brittle under his fist, the sound like he had stepped on a roach or a large spider of some sort, but the limb underneath his hand had twitched all at once from the force of the hit, a spasm of pain, and now it felt remarkably different under Clive's palm, like he had mashed it straight out of its shape. Sobriety cut through his mind like a laser, the adrenaline wrenching the obscuring fog out of his mind. Clive understood.

For a brief, yet eternal second, Kaitlyn's happy smile had frozen on her face, her eyes bright and wide, her small little baby teeth showing in her grin. In a year or two, she would start losing them soon. It looked like her mind had had trouble comprehending the pain and she had gone perfectly still, all the colour and life draining from her face until she looked as while as a linen sheet.

"Kaitlyn? Oh gods, what did I…?"

The little girl's scream could have broken glass. Clive yanked his hand away and saw there was blood on his palm, noticing as he stood up, that his hand was shaking violently, fiercely, as if it had known exactly what it had done. Kaitlyn had snatched her hand back and was cradling it against her little body like it was a wounded animal, her long pealing shriek degrading down into hysterical cries. Clive stared, dumbfounded. Catherine had also cried out behind her as she had been attracted to the room from the scream, roughly shoving Clive aside as he had been in her way. The drunken man couldn't keep his balance and he fell against one of the chairs, missing and smacking the back of his head against the wooden armrest. Clive saw stars for a moment and moaned out in pain, bringing his bloody hand around to rub the back of his head.

Catherine was cradling the damaged infant like she was a tiny baby again, trying her best to stop Kaitlyn from screaming her lungs raw. Her little hand had been squashed by the force of Clive's fist, the tiny fingers broken and looking like flattened cheese sticks. They hung limply from a palm that had been bent forward a little from the broken inner bones, thinner and floppy, like a plain pancake. It was slowly starting to swell and turn bright red, a small cut gained from the metal of Clive's wedding band oozing a few droplets of blood down the gap between her thumb and index finger.

Clive didn't know what to say. It felt like somebody had removed him from his own world and had placed him into the false world of another, where his little daughter shrieked and screamed and cried and the fault was all his. "Catherine…" Clive murmured, speaking low and confusedly, "I…"

She turned around and glared at Clive, then he immediately knew that Catherine hated him. He was too messed up, too struck by the happenings of the past twenty seconds to even _consider_ what this might mean for himself as her husband, all he could do for the moment was stand in his own reeky atmosphere of liquor, his years of work in shreds all around him, and by his little daughter who was crying in pain and fear for him. For Clive, that really hurt him the most. Ten minutes later and they were at Cheville's house down the road, where Kaitlyn was treated, and Clive had spent that night hiding out at the local inn. All because he was-)

Not a drunk no longer…

The doorway to the large cell was tall and wide, four times the height of a man and broad enough to fit a sandcraft in lengthways, the tough irons bars as thick and as the branches of a strong, supple tree. There didn't seems to be a doorway or a lock to this particular holding cell, as if the prisoner inside was never to be let out under any circumstances. Two large pyres were burning on either side of the cell, somehow creating a minimal amount of smoke. It must have been specially prepared wood, Clive reckoned, for it to burn like that. This place must have stored a precious kind of _something_ for the duke to protect it this way. Ortega stoked each of the pyres quietly for awhile, minimizing the embers and maximizing the flames and the light.

"You gotta keep these ones burning most of all. The darkness makes all the monsters edgy but this one will panic and break free if all the fires go out. I dunno what it is exactly, I wager it's some kind of fire-breathing dragon myself, but it hides so close to the back of the cell that I ain't never seen its face before. You don't have to worry about feeding this one, it doesn't eat, or it doesn't _need_ to eat, from what I've noticed. Ten years I've been stoking this fire and I haven't given it anything to chow down on, but the thing is still alive."

"That is impossible." Clive stated, "Every living thing requires sustenance to live. It is a proven fact."

"Well, I don't know about you, college boy, but I know what I've seen and I'll _continue_ to believe what I've seen." Ortega replied with a knowing grin. "Just keep everything nice and bright and the monsters fed. The Duke'd be pretty upset if one of his precious little 'collection' was to die." He emphasized the word 'collection' with the middle and index finger of each hand, then laughed. Clive obligingly smiled at Ortega's horse-like braying. "A torch will last twenty-four hours down here," The caretaker explained, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, "The pyre six or seven hours at the max. You'll have to come down here at night and relight the fires, it'll help if you keep a pile of faggots and tinder down here to save time. Use one of the cells for that. The woodshed out the back of the Heaven has more than enough material and pre-prepared torches for you to use, so don't worry."

"Excuse me," Clive said, "But may I ask you a question?"

Ortega was warming his hands on the burning pyre, for it was exceedingly cold down there in the dungeon. "Yeah, what is it?" He asked, enjoying the heat from the flames.

"I do not see how the Duke Begucci could allow his wife and family to live in such a dangerous place as this, so infested with monsters and cut off from the rest of the world. I know it is vastly hypocritical for me to mention this, what with my own impending intentions, but I do not feel that that was a responsible thing for him to do."

The caretaker eyed Clive strangely, raising one eyebrow. "Boy, I don't know what you're talking about," He answered, "The Duke's widowed. Has been for close to eight years now."

Clive placed his left hand against his elbow and then used his right hand to adjust his glasses, having slotted his torch into a rung in the wall a short time ago. "That makes no sense. He mentioned his family to me while I was upstairs in his office. He did not use past tense there to describe them, so I am perplexed."

Ortega removed Clive's torch and held onto it firmly, gesturing for them to return the way they had came. The caretaker took the lead once more and Clive followed him, awaiting Ortega's reply. By the light of the fire the older man wiped at his face with a pocket handkerchief, removing soot and slight perspiration, despite the area being so cold. "I'm not supposed to talk about that to folks." He muttered in a low voice, "But because you're gonna be an employee too, I think it'd be alright to slip it to you, though I was paid hush money to keep it a secret. What do you want to know?"

"The duke…" Clive said quietly, "What happened to his family? Why doesn't he acknowledge the fact that they are dead?" He leant over to the side a little, a strange movement he made whenever he was asking a question he wished to know the answer to. It didn't make much sense to Clive, but Cain Begucci _did _seem to be a bit of an eccentric at heart, as most noblemen were. Perhaps there was more to that man then Clive had originally assumed?

"Lets' see…" Ortega closed his eyes momentarily in order for him to dredge up the correct memories, ducking a large cobweb at the same time without having to look and notice that it was there. Clive was less fortunate and walked straight into it, muttering quietly and pulling the silken strands from his hair. Ortega found his voice and began. "It was about eight years ago, I think, when the duke first got the idea into his head to close the Heaven down in winter to attract bigger crowds in the spring.. Us employees had to pack up and piss off for three months, but the duke decided that he and his family would stay here and guard the fort. It was _his_ home, after all, he wanted to stay. I reckon Cain just didn't want to leave his investment, he loves this hole in the ground too damn much to let the winter have its way with it."

"That sounds reasonable." Clive inputted, disentangling himself from the cobweb, trying not to drop behind the other man's steps. He checked his watch, he was now twenty minutes late. He hoped there would be a train late enough for him to catch, and he also briefly wondered what Kaitlyn and Catherine were doing right now, then he focused back on the man he was currently following. "Do continue, please." He added faithfully, interest in his tone.

"Well, they got their affairs in order and held the fort through the winter. I remember the duke sayin' it would be easy, it was _his_ home and _his_ family, that it was a normal arrangement. I remember the wife and two daughters. Beautiful, they were. Both of 'em were blonde and cheery, always happy, I dunno where the hell they got that trait from, but they were the nicest girls you ever did chance to see. Their mother was the opposite, a gorgeous grade A knockout, but you couldn't worm two words outta her without it being completely fucking depressing. Understandable, when you remember that she's gotta fuck that uppity duke all night long. They was a pretty weird bunch altogether, now that I think about it."

Ortega lit a cigarette, using the fire from the torch in lieu of a lighter. He turned around and offered the green-haired man one, but was politely turned down. The old caretaker continued. "Anyhow, when spring came and the Heaven was reopened on the first day, it weren't more than a few hours before the police were contacted and they hauled the duke away. They think he went nuts that winter, took out a hoe from the garden shed, sharpened the edge, and hacked his wife and kids to pieces with it, sometime when winter was at its peak, according to the autopsies they made. The duke was charged and all that, but it's easy to get a slap on the wrist in court when you pull the right strings and sneak money to the right people. Cain pleaded insanity, which you know is probably true, and now he's back here in his Heaven, as happy as he's ever been."

"My word…" Clive breathed, "Now I understand what he was referring to when he mentioned cabin fever. His mind must believe that his wife and daughters are still alive, locked into place by that traumatic event." He smiled despite knowing that it was a terrible thing to do. "So I suppose he really _is_ the immoral duke now. Oh, I should not say…"

"The biggest shame was them two little girls. It weren't right, just wasn't time for them to go. Beautiful things, they didn't deserve to die. Kind enough to bring food down and befriend an old bastard like me. You don't see people of that ilk no more, let me tell you."

"I understand." Clive agreed, though also thought that Ortega didn't look _that_ old. "They are becoming increasingly rare these days. My own daughter Kaitlyn, she is an angel. She-"

**(She had screamed and screamed and cried and feared when daddy had made her hand hurt on the inside, on everywhere…)**

"The doctor knows this. She knocked over my typewriter and it fell on her hand."

Liar.

"It was an accident. I didn't know what I was doing."

**LIAR!**

"She… is the best thing that ever happened to me." Clive finally finished ponderously, with diminished zeal.

Ortega grinned. "All dads say the same thing and I think all of them are telling the truth." Clive nodded, the two of them now ascending a staircase. "You be careful down here this winter, you hear? This is the first time the Heaven's been closed down since the duke snapped, let's not have it happen again." He pushed open the dungeon-like door that led to the main level of the Heaven. Sunlight streamed in through the small barred windows. Clive felt much more comfortable here, less vulnerable, because there were people up here too, fighters, spectators and aristocrats.

And yet, a translucent wave of anxiety washed over him in response to Ortega's words, the older man warning him not to make the same mistakes that the duke had. That would not happen again, Clive was sure of it. He pictured the two little girls and the beautiful wife. There was no way a sane man could hurt their family like that. Clive swallowed hard. How hypocritical.

God, Clive needed a drink.


	4. Pt I: Prefatory Matters, Shadowland

__

Chapter Four, Shadowland

Kaitlyn Winslett had been waiting for her father to come home for nearly two hours before her resolve wavered and she climbed the big steps onto the verandah of the inn, slipping into the large wicker couch that was positioned beneath the corrugated reddish roof. A red cushion was there also and Kaitlyn used it as a pillow, desiring to lie down for awhile and watch for her daddy to return. She was confident that nothing bad had happened to him during his return journey to Little Twister, she knew these things without doubt, but also wished that she could reassure her mother with those same instincts as well, as Catherine was indoors in their rented room, lying on the family bed and crying. She was worried about her husband, worried if he was safe or not.

Clive was, in fact, riding the old aging mare he had taken with him from Westwood Station over to the outer fields of Little Twister, looking at the sparse but promising wheat crops. It was harvest season and workers were reaping them now, cutting down the plants with scythe and blade. Kaitlyn had known of Clive's location ever since he had stepped off the train and into familiar soil, so she wasn't very worried. Kaitlyn didn't want her mommy to be worried too, she wished she could tell mommy her big secret, the one that had given both her parents a slight awe and even a little fear about their sweet child.

Kaitlyn saw things that didn't exist, and knew things that she wasn't supposed to know. It had started not long after the incident of her broken hand, around about the time Jet had decided to become her friend, and Kaitlyn noticed things that she hadn't noticed before. Feelings and thoughts, she discovered, had a distinct colour and texture to them in her mind, and delving a little bit when a person she knew about was around, and concentrating very hard, those colours and textures sometimes turned into words. Kaitlyn still couldn't read very well just yet, she was a little behind in her schooling due to her father's exile from Humphrey's Peak, but it was a language that her heart could read and understand very well, she merely had to focus her mind.

It had been a feeling that was new and very scary to her, now that she reflected upon it, but also fascinating, it dulled out the pain of her constantly throbbing hand. Even in the present day it discomforted her somewhat and reminded the girl that she only had limited use of that hand now and only a little bit of feeling in it. She could wiggle two fingers and to a lesser extent a thumb, but her pinky and the one that sat next to it, Kaitlyn couldn't even remember the last time she had felt them move. Physiotherapy would have helped the girl immensely, and Catherine had insisted that Kaitlyn get as much of it as she possibly could, but Clive simply didn't have the money available to give Kaitlyn what she needed. Kaitlyn had known that her daddy had felt bad about it, nearly crying bad, for a long time he had reeked even worse of the Bad Thing and it had existed on his breath and stumbly words. There were some things her father just couldn't take back.

The little girl knew what the Bad Thing was. Lots of people in her old hometown had done it as well, including the daddy of her old friend Mock, who was now a sailor over in the port town of Jolly Roger. Mock had told her that his daddy had done the Bad Thing so much that he got mad and beat his mommy until she had to go to the doctor's clinic, from then on Mock only saw his daddy once a month and sometimes not even that. Both his parents had separated, they had gotten a _divorce_.

That word was one of the scariest words Kaitlyn had ever known. Not for what it was, but for how often it had popped up in _both_ of her parents minds, sometimes jumping from mommy to daddy, and sometimes existing in the minds of both of them at the same time, like the day Kaitlyn had broken her hand, or when Clive had been kicked out of his hometown. The intensities varied from light, flitting thoughts that Kaitlyn could barely hold onto, to giant deadly monsters hiding in a forest of thought, equipped with poisoned spears. Would _her_ mommy and daddy get a _divorce_ too, and make those evil mind monsters real for her? Kaitlyn hoped to god that they wouldn't.

One night, scarcely a week after Clive had made his first big mistake, Kaitlyn was picking at her food and clumsily manipulating her plastic fork within her left hand, dropping peas and other shreds of vegetables into her little lap. It was best that they remained there, as the terrible dark thoughts flitting from either sides of the dining table were making Kaitlyn physically ill inside, the girl constantly having to force the bile back down into her throat. Her hand had been shaking like crazy, not caring where the food went. She had been paying more attention to what her mommy and daddy was thinking instead.

__

Divorce was in both their minds, pushed up to the front like two great flashing neon signs. Mommy's was a sickly green that was almost blue and shivery wet, a worry that was only a shade away from fear. She had been scared. Of what? Of daddy? It seemed so, but Kaitlyn also knew that this fear was for her, though she knew not why. Mommy had been playing with it like a child turns a shiny gella coin over in their hands, viewing it from each side, wondering if this was the best course of action for her family to take. Her mind was on Kaitlyn's slowly healing, though defective hand, on Clive and his steadily worsening Bad Thing, and upon herself, wondering where she went wrong.

Daddy's thoughts had been much different, much scarier and far more _wrong_. They were red and felt like invisible fire, burning but not warm, streaked with lightening-jagged lines of the purest black. _Divorce_ was there as well, like a dragon waiting to breathe fire at the slightest change, but these thoughts were different, directed towards himself, hatred, loathing, and regret. They were like sharp slaps in Kaitlyn's face as she watched her father stare into his glass of warming gin and tonic, as if he was looking into an ocean with no bottom. She remembered dropping her fork when her probing mind had pushed past daddy's mental defenses with a little grunt and stepped into a new territory, feeling like a hill at night under a dead tree, with a noosed rope hanging from one branch. A word in daddy's heart hit Kaitlyn like a bullet, killing all her nerves instantly.

**__**

SUICIDE.

The next thing Kaitlyn knew, she was on the floor with the contents of her dinner all around her, an end of the dining table cloth clenched tightly into her workable fist. Her mother was beside her and going into moderate hysterics, while her father had banished the dark thoughts momentarily and was trying his best to resuscitate the little girl back into consciousness. Kaitlyn had sat up, calm and confused. Why on earth were they worried about her? Shouldn't they be worried about themselves and the monster words sleeping inside their heads? Away to the doctor Kaitlyn had gone, and she had been diagnosed as being prone to bouts of seizures. She didn't know what that meant, along with the scary _suicide_ word, but she particularly didn't want to find out. If she could never see that 'S' word again, she would be a thankful girl indeed.

But she never forgot about that noose.

She wished she could just _tell_ her parents about her special power without either of them mistaking it for mere childlike imagination, she also wished they would believe in Jet as well, who, like the impressions of feelings and weird thoughts that she picked up from others, came along with her from the time after daddy had made her hurt. Jet was the only friend who had followed Kaitlyn from Humphrey's Peak over to Little Twister, her "Imaginary friend", as Clive liked to call him with a bemused smile and a glint of concern behind his eyes, unsure if he thought it a charming childhood instrument or an undiagnosed side-effect of Kaitlyn's seizures.

Jet sometimes came when Kaitlyn was practicing using her power. It didn't happen always, sometimes she'd just get dizzy and woozy for a little while, and then maybe a short blackout afterwards, but if her mind was like a faucet, and if she turned it onto full-blast, Jet would appear from around a corner or out of the thin air itself, always far away, but close enough for Kaitlyn to hear his voice. He and Kaitlyn were friends, she knew this without having to exchange any words with him at all, it was like she could pick up his feelings as easily as anybody else, and he could simply do the same. Jet and Kaitlyn were friends.

There were times when Jet did weird things for her without her asking, like once while her family was on their constant nomadic move, they were in the mining town of Little Rock, hoping that daddy could get a temporary job here. Jet had come to keep Kaitlyn company when all her friends had gone home. He had stood a street away, spending his entire time silent and pointing downwards at the sandy ground. Kaitlyn had watched him do this with perplexity and then had succumbed to a child's attention span and went to play elsewhere, the curiosity quickly disappearing from her mind. Two weeks later a new water vein had been discovered right where Jet had been standing, because Kaitlyn had pointed out to her father where Jet had silently told her to dig. Clive, thinking it harmless fun, had reported the site to the water requisition board and not long after that a well was established.

Clive had taken her aside and had asked her his question. "Kaitlyn," He had asked, "How did you know about the water down there? Was there a damp patch that you noticed?" Clive knew that this was impossible, as the land had been dry there for weeks, but couldn't think of anything else to attribute Kaitlyn's knowledge to.

Kaitlyn had shaken her head and had answered honestly. "No, Daddy. That's not what happened. Jet showed me the way." Her father had blinked once but had kept his eyes neutral. Kaitlyn easily saw past that though, taking a harmless and innocent peek into Clive's mind, knowing that there was no Bad Thing in there right now.

__

(Jet? Oh, the seizure hallucinations. She didn't have another one, did she? I wish I could afford medication for her, it just isn't fair for her to go through this, although how the hell did she know about the- A guess, it must have been a guess…)

That was the way things went for her, the short sad story of Kaitlyn Winslett's life. The little girl sat up from her lying-down position, imitating the pose that her mother had made a short while ago. That had been the daddy of her past's thoughts, she wondered what the daddy of the present was thinking about now. Was he close enough for her mind to reach him? Kaitlyn didn't really know very much about distances, but she guessed that as long as she could locate where he was, she could probe his thoughts as well. It was interesting enough for her to try.

Kaitlyn sat up straight, folding her hands into her lap. This preparation wasn't necessary, but she wanted to seem composed enough so that in the worst case scenario, her mother wouldn't panic as much if she had somehow gone into a vision and had looked the worst for wear. Kaitlyn didn't close her eyes, they merely attained a distant quality as she focussed on something far away from her, needing only to imagine one facet of her father's environment in order to tune into whatever was there.

So, he was with his horse at the time, so Kaitlyn imagined the carefully thudding hooves of Clive's old mare, slow, uneven and aged. The deep rhythm, which had coincided with her heartbeat in the beginning, detached itself from the beat and became almost like a _real_ sound in her own head, like it was coming from close by. And now sandy footsteps became apparent beside the horse's movements, Clive was walking beside her. Like somebody hitting the correct radio station after some searching, Clive's thoughts flooded into her head, the thought patterns resembling a long sheet of silk being pulled though Kaitlyn's head, from one side to the other.

__

(What happens if one of the duke's pet monsters falls ill during the winter? Would I then have to try and bring it back to health, or just let it die? I should have asked Ortega when I had the time, I always seem to forget a vital piece of information when I need it the most. That Ortega, what a character! I could make a friend out of him, nevertheless. That duke however, Jesus Christ, he gives me the chills. Uppity son of a bitch, of course! I will keep his home clean and safe, as long as it is for the right price. Maybe we can settle down with the money he is paying, start anew again. Catherine would-)

"Kaitlyn… Hey kid…Over heeere…"

Clive's thoughts fuzzed out as Kaitlyn unknowingly stepped over an inner barrier in her mind and Jet called out to her, using _words_ this time. This was something new for Kaitlyn and she obligingly looked up to him, though her body remained in a slumped, almost unconscious position. Jet was far away down the road, but close enough for Kaitlyn to barely see his face, half obscured by the mess of a white and red scarf he always wore. His eyes looked amused, his hands behind his back, but Kaitlyn could sense some kind of darkness behind him, something that hadn't been there in all the times Jet had visited her before.

Kaitlyn did as she was told. Standing up, she felt a nagging tug at the middle of her spirit's body, but when she moved forward a bit and fought against that ghostly force, the tug broke like a thread being ripped in two and she pattered down the verandah's stairs, heading towards where Jet was.

When her feet left the last step and touched the dusty ground, the solid soil became liquid and Kaitlyn was plunged into a sea of mixed light and darkness, snatches of thoughts and words existing like debris upon the waves. Kaitlyn couldn't swim but she cried out and thrashed for the surface anyway, breaking the water's barrier with a bursting gasp of air. She was not wet but the raging sea was carrying her and flinging her body from side-to-side, words striking her brain, violating it, filling with it it's everything, it's essence. Jet was calling out to her, standing calmly upon the surface of the waves like they were nothing more than cobbled stone.

**__**

BE CAREFUL. DON'T PANIC. BEWARE. IT'S COMING. YOU'LL RUN. SAVE YOURSELF. FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE. DON'T END IT. PLEASE DIE WITH ME! CAN'T STAND IT ANY MORE. I'LL KILL YOU! YOU DESERVE DEATH. I LOVE YOU. DON'T DO IT! WE DEVOTE OURSELVES. IT IS MIDNIGHT. I DO NOT CARE. PLEASE, STOP!

"Be careful, kid. You gotta be careful…"

(Jet, what are you saying it's really scary don't-)

The final thought was like a heartbeat, and Kaitlyn disappeared from the sea like a light going out.

**__**

REDRUM.

It was now a room, dark at night. The windows were flung open and freezing cold air rushed in along with an unfamiliar pattering of icy rain. The wind was shrieking like a howling banshee and the flash and roar of thunder partially illuminated the room for the briefest few moments. That was enough for Kaitlyn to see.

**__**

REDRUM.

The room was ransacked, tables and chairs overturned, walls wet and slimy with the entrance of the rain. Picture frames were on the ground with their photographs ripped and their glasses broken, all the people faceless, all the people unexisting. It smelt like metal in here, coppery, it felt red and burning and black. And she knew something was coming.

Lightning lit up the broken mirror. Etched upon the reflective glass was the message, written in drying-  
_(mommy's)_  
blood.

**__**

REDRUM.

(Jet, stop it!)

"Watch it, Kaitlyn… Watch all of this…"

Now Kaitlyn was in a hallway way of some sort, torches burning on the walls. They were dying though, like they hadn't been changed in awhile. The wind reached her even in here, like a crooked cold arm that bounced along the walls, Kaitlyn held her ears and shrieked, denying this vision, denying the _everything_ that was around her. This couldn't be real, this is a bad dream-

**__**

You fucking bitch!

A fraction of the wall exploded behind her shoulder, the girl lucky enough not to have been injured by the shrapnel. Kaitlyn heard the sound of something small and metallic tinkle to the ground, then the click-click-snap of something being reset. Footsteps were echoing through the hall along with the wind, wearing it as a mantle of purest evil. A figure, a shape burst out of the growing darkness, red eyes glowing like slits of hellfire. It wore a cloak of blood and flames, green poison dripping down into its eyes. Walking tall and somehow regal, like a prince, it had a large gun in its hands, the wood-grained finish of the handle and the steel-capped butt smeared with blood and clots of hair, stinking of gunpowder. It was coming for her.

**__**

Get over here, bitch! I will break the rest of the bones in your fucking body!

Ba-_blam_! Kaitlyn started running at the exact right moment, missing being shot in the throat by a few inches or so. She had no idea where she was running to, for all she knew this hallway could lead on forever, but she wanted Jet, she wanted her mommy to be with her, she wanted her daddy to come and save her from the gun-toting shape, the demon of _divorce_, _suicide_ and _redrum_ hunting her down.

**__**

Dammit, get over here! Come and meet your maker!

(Jet!) She cried,_ (Jet, please!)_

Everything went dark. For a moment Kaitlyn hysterically came to the conclusion that she had gone blind, or even worse, that the demon had finally gotten her. But then Jet appeared, looking down at her with a look similar to remorse.

__

"Kaitlyn, don't go to Heaven. If you do…you have to be careful…You have to be careful, kid…be careful, care…ful…"

And then he was gone, and Kaitlyn was awake again, sitting up and realizing that her blue dress was clinging to her body by sweat. The little girl grabbed at her head right afterwards, expecting a headache to overtake her mind, but it never came. Strangely, she felt somehow refreshed, although her heart was racing faster than a hyper mouse in a wheel. Brushing disheveled blonde hair out of her eyes, Kaitlyn looked up at the sky, leaving her couch in order to glance above the verandah's roof.

__

It was only a dream… Yes, just a dream…

"Hello there, Kaitie. Counting all the stars in the sky?"

Kaitlyn turned towards the direction of the voice. "Daddy!" She cried. Clive smiled as Kaitlyn raced all the way over to him and flung herself into her father's arms, certain that Clive would catch her. He did so with a certain degree of grace and handled the girl effortlessly in his arms, giving her a welcoming cuddle. His horse was there beside him, quiet yet looking particularly tired, though Clive didn't seem nearly as tired as his equine companion was. "Daddy!" Kaitlyn repeated, overjoyed. "I missed you!"

"Well, it has not been _that_ long, has it?" Clive smiled, turning that somehow pure smile he made on towards his daughter. Kaitlyn knew from the very beginning that this smile was an immaculate one, her daddy wasn't in the bad thoughts right now, or thinking of the Bad Thing, which he usually did every day. No, this was perfect. Daddy was happy, and so was she. "Where is your mother?" Clive continued, holding the girl in the crook of one arm and guiding the horse with the other.

"Mommy is indoors. She's-"  
(_Not crying anymore-)  
_"Gone to sleep. She made dinner, though. Can we go inside now too?"

"Hold it for a moment, Kaitie honey. I bought us a little celebration meal for the night before we go to Heaven. You do like lamb, correct?" Clive put the child down and turned to search through the horse's saddlebags, trying to find his prize. That was one little quirk about Clive, he hated to go home empty handed. Kaitlyn opened her mouth to answer her father, looking up towards Clive's back. Whatever words she was going to say instantly died on her tongue.

The blood-soaked, hair matted rifle was slung along Clive's back, dripping a trail of ichor down Clive's red coat.

Then it became a simple brown rucksack.

"Daddy," Kaitlyn said, looking down. "I love you. You love me and mommy, right?"

Clive paused, then turned back towards the girl. Smiling, he picked her up again, forgetting about the lamb for the moment. He kissed his daughter lovingly on the cheek. "Of course, sweetheart. I will always love you and your mother forever."

Kaitlyn nodded, a slight seed of fear trying hard to grow in her heart. The things she had seen today, what Jet had shown her, she couldn't forget them, not now, but looking at her daddy smiling at her and loving her mommy, the thoughts of _divorce_ gone from his head, she could push them out of her own head too, it was an adult thing to do. Daddy was happy. She didn't want to change that.

So she smiled.


	5. Pt I: Prefatory Matters, Empathite

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Chapter Five, Empathite

Catherine and Kaitlyn were calmly eating dinner in the main area of their hired inn accommodations, the thoughts of their next move no longer existing in, but still not far away from their minds. The place at the table for which Clive Winslett was supposed to sit at was currently absent, though his meal and glass of water were there and waiting for him to return. The man in question was in the next room, pacing upon the cheaply woven carpeting with a bluish metallic object in his hands. It was the inn's resident empathite transmitter, a piece of recently rediscovered technology that could transfer thoughts from one receiver to another a long distance away. It sounded farfetched, but here it was in his hands. Clive had had to pay a little extra when reserving their rooms so that he could have access to this expense, though it had taxed his wallet considerably.

He thought it unfair for the inn to charge so much for only one instance of usage, but he didn't want to kick up a fuss, get upset and start an argument all over again. That would be something the old Clive Winslett would do. Not him. Not anymore.

Clive wanted to call and thank Berlitz for the intervention that had led to this new job, for the old professor deeply, _deeply_ deserved it. Berlitz had been a good friend to Clive for as far back as he could remember, and now he was legally Clive's father-in-law, his colleague, and his confidant. He had met Catherine back when he was young by being employed in Berlitz's research team and by becoming prominent amongst all the other masses, a young handsome jack-of-all-trades with a penchant for understanding the past. It didn't take long for Clive to become Berlitz's personal understudy, and a promising one he was. That had been a long time ago, Clive thought with a small smile. Almost an age ago.

Turning his head slightly, Clive could see Kaitlyn playing with her mashed potatoes and getting it all over the rest of her food, and Catherine was smiling like this was a new and novel experience for her, her light grey eyes shining like polished pearls. His grip on the empathite transmitter tightened a little. He had been a horrible alcoholic back in the day when Kaitlyn had been just a little toddling child, he didn't know what had caused it in the beginning, but his fascination with the bottom of the glass did not waver when he was with Berlitz, whether on business or at leisure, a man very much like himself in that respect. The benders usually occurred on weekends, after work was over they'd all have a night out with the professor and about a dozen other colleagues in their team, but Clive and Berlitz were always the only ones staggering home in the ungodly hours of the morning, reeking of booze and vomit, for the bottom of the glass had captured them both.

Berlitz had tried to save him, save Clive from the threat of losing his good reputation in the eyes of Humphrey's Peak, but alas, there were some things that just couldn't be fixed by one man alone. He was one of the six most respected people in the town, and it was those people who had decided Clive's fate that day. They had voted. The results came in at five against one. Berlitz had been the one, and the Winsletts had left town. The charge of rape had not sealed Clive's fate, but the actions he had made afterwards instead. Clive would have been saved, if it wasn't for his pitiful pride.

But apart from his pride, what did he have left? A family he was breaking, one or two thousand gella in stored funds, and a horse that was close enough to death row than it had ever been before? Sometimes- no, _all_ the time Clive thought that it would have been better if he had just left. Then Catherine and Kaitlyn would have been happy.

Turning on the transmitter, Clive waited for Berlitz to pick up. The steady beeping in his ear kept him aware that his call had not been received yet. He remembered that he hadn't seen the old man for quite some time now, a few months at the least, which was odd, considering how close their friendship had been. It was a both a nice, and a terrible friendship, drawn closer by one, irredeemable act. The result of it, Clive recalled, had silenced their eagerness for alcohol once and for all.

It had been in the earliest hours of the next day, while the stars were still out and it could still be nighttime for a long time yet. Berlitz and Clive, spawned by a few trivial conversations in one of the local bars, decided that they would receive a hero's welcome back home if they brought with them a stunning young buck from the nearby forests, a hunting trophy like no other. They had stopped by the ARMsmith's shop beforehand, 'borrowing' a few rifles and a small shotgun for personal protection, should a monster attack, and set out for the wilderness on foot, swaying and laughing and believing that they were the smartest men in the world.

Yet it had gotten steadily darker once the two had left the safe and familiar lights of Humphrey's Peak, like a cluster of glowing fireflies in the distance. Clive remembered turning and looking at that sight once in his haze of drunkenness, likening it to embers burning on a faraway pyre. That feeling of whimsy passed smoothly and he adjusted the strap of his rifle strung along his shoulder, keeping his ears open for the sound of movement, other than Berlitz's stumbly and clumsy gait. They had both drunk enough for six normal people, Clive thought with a vague, peculiar smirk. No matter. They would come home with a prize tonight!

They headed for the trees, as no right minded stag would dare to be out of the forest so close to human civilization. Remembering to stay close together, they loaded their weapons and kept close to the tree trunks, hoping that their frames would be shielded by the dark spires of elm, oak and yew. A rush of adrenaline washed over Clive like a wave, bringing on brief cognizance. What were they doing out here in the forest, drunk, with loaded weapons? Shouldn't he be at home with Catherine and Kaitlyn by now? Oh well, he must have been sidetracked. It had increasingly been occurring as of late, nothing he could do about it now. Clive's focus shifted back towards the hunt.

He could just spy Berlitz's silhouette a short ways away from his tree, leaning up against the back like he was a soldier in adequate camouflage. Clive found this to be incredibly funny, especially considering the older man's height, dress, and portly exterior, the green-haired man having to use up a great amount of power to keep himself from bursting into a fit of girlish giggles. Berlitz's silhouette moved a little and Clive caught himself, he had indeed made a little noise. He thought to apologise quietly, but decided that it would behoove him to just remain quiet, well, as quiet as he could under the circumstances.

Something moved in the darkness, punctuated by the rustles in the dried grass. In Clive's suggestive haze, he could have sworn that he could hear somebody humming. He looked towards Berlitz again, but the man was making not a sound. The old archaeologist also seemed to have picked up on this new stimulus as well. Clive licked his lips, still tasting the heady tang of whatever he had been drinking that night. His head was a little too foggy for him to remember, but he knew that it had been good. Along with that waitress that had served him, she had looked pretty good too…

More movement! Clive hands moved faster than his mind did. It was more of an instinctual reaction, really, while the rest of his body just watched. He couldn't have stopped himself if he had tried, the alcohol in his blood would have slowed him down too much anyway, Clive would have acted a second or two after the deed had already been done. His hands lifted, cocking the weapon and bracing its butt against his left shoulder, Clive steeled his eyes against the iron sight, taking aim. A silhouette in the darkness, not Berlitz's, and not his own. This must be what he was looking for. Assured of this, he pressured the trigger as planned.

It was then that a rational part of Clive's mind spoke up and delivered to him the obvious truth, that the creature he was targeting had a distinctly _human_ shape. It wasn't a deer at all! But why was he-

Berlitz's voice. "Oh fuck, Clive! That's a-"

His eyes widened in alarm. He would have done something, but it was already too late. He had acted.

The rifle he had borrowed wasn't a very big or expensive kind, so it hardly made any noise when fired, but the sound was there alright, low and final like a wailing gust of wind. Clive felt the ARM jerk back against his shoulder as the firing pin hit the bullet's casing, almost like he was shaken out of his drunkenness for the barest fraction of a second. Berlitz was watching him with pale horror, his face obscured by the darkness.

The bullet struck, there was a brief, _human_ cry, and then a long tumbling sound, followed by a cold splashing of water. Oh yes, that was right, there was a small river within the forest, Clive had totally forgotten about that too. But that wasn't important right now. _Who on Filgaia had he hit?_

Clive lowered the rifle, then it fell out of his hands with an anticlimactic thud. He licked his lips and glanced almost pleadingly at Berlitz, for validation that he was indeed innocent. "God, Berlitz, that couldn't have been a… There wouldn't have been people around at this time of…" Shaken, he looked back to where the silhouette had fallen. "It was a stag, right?"

Berlitz came around to stand by Clive's side. Close by, he could see the look on the older man's face. It was pale and blotchy, like imperfect cheese. "I don't think so. I think… I think we hit a kid." Clive felt a small twinge of guilt when Berlitz said the word 'we', as it was he who had fired the shot, not Berlitz at all. He didn't know if that was to make him feel better or worse. The old man's mustache twitched apprehensively. "You heard that cry, a deer can't make a sound like that! What have we-"

Not wasting time, Clive tore himself away from the sight and ran down the near-invisible slope, his feet skidding in the slightly mulchy dirt. "Fuck that right now!" He cried. "Go back to town and get us some lanterns! C'mon Berlitz, we haven't a second to waste!" Clive was hoping and praying that his aim had been off, and that the kid, if it was a kid, Clive still wasn't sure, was still alive down there. How had been so stupid to have mistaken a human for a beast, even in the dark! Clive swore as overshadowing trees scratched at his face with their twiggy reaching hands, thankfully missing his eyes because of his glasses, by swiping against the rest of his face. The drunkenness was leaving him now, being eaten by fearful adrenaline and leaving a foul-tasting queasy feeling behind.

He could hear Berlitz's straggly rustlings through the taller grass far above him, on the higher slope, as the older man had obeyed Clive's direction and was running to get them some light, heading back towards the glowing embers of town. Clive hit the bottom of the slope and a slight splash back of water struck his boots and pants, dark and smelling of mildew and stagnation. He squinted his eyes into slits and sloshed into the chilly river, the water slowly swilling around his legs. It had been recently disturbed, most likely, perhaps, by a body hitting the water?

Clive let out a curse and sunk to his hands and knees, ignoring the cold and groping blindly in the water and mud for anything resembling a body, a hand, a fistful of hair, a piece of clothing, anything. He heard all over again in his mind the startled cry as the bullet had hit its mark without fault, it had sounded like a male, a young male, but no, it must have been his imagination. Clive prayed to God that it had just been his imagination. But Berlitz had heard it too, so it must have been real. It was just too horrifying to consider.

Numbness began to creep up his body from the constant contact with the chilled water of the night, his hands eventually becoming too frozen for him to feel _anything_ at all, but still, he searched. Clive had stiffened in guilty fear when pouring yellow light had washed over his body in the midst of his search, but it had just turned out to be Berlitz with a lit oil lantern, giving Clive a little more light to see by. Clive had raised a hand over his brow to squint through the source of the light, horrid clumps of mud and foul water running down the shape of his hand. "Dammit, you look like the creature from the Black Lagoon." Berlitz said grimly, chewing a little on the inside of his cheek.

"What-fucking-ever! Is that important now!" Clive shouted, his voice still slurry while his mind, through his state of panic, had sharpened enough to give him perfect clarity of thought. The impact of his situation was beginning to bear down upon him with its considerable weight. "I cannot find him anywhere. Did he wash downstream? God, Berlitz, if anybody was to find out, my family…"

"I know." Berlitz replied. Clive's family was _his_ family too, after all. He made his way down into the muddy river as carefully as he could, so he wouldn't drop the lantern and plunge them all into darkness once more. He noticed Clive's bloodshot eyes, the way the younger man seemed to have trouble breathing, he was truly losing his composure over this. Berlitz felt it too, but had the calm of old age on his side. He helped Clive skim the entire river for about a hundred feet on either side of the falling point, but both of them came up completely empty handed. It was like they had struck nothing at all.

The younger man stood up from the muck, completely soaked in it all the way up to his shoulders. Swallowing hard, he adjusted his glasses that were flecked in the grime. "Bog bodies." He said with breathless anxiety.

"What?" Berlitz asked, sloshing over to where Clive was standing and being painfully aware that his best outing suit was ruined forever.

"Berlitz, you are an archaeologist, you should know. Bog bodies fall into the mud and are preserved for hundreds of years without interruption. They do not even rot. What if… oh God, Berlitz, what if…" Clive clenched his hands. "What if I _murdered_ somebody!"

The shorter and older man grabbed both of Clive's shoulders and shook him as firmly as he could. "Do not speak of such things! You know, perhaps we only _heard_ and _thought_ we saw something! Then, this is all for nothing, our worry for nothing. Wouldn't that be grand? We got filthy for nothing, what a tale!" Berlitz tried to laugh happily, but it came out horribly distorted. It only made him feel like screaming. He slumped a little. "We've been out here for an hour. If there was anything to find, we would have found it by now. Let's… let's go home and clean up. It will be dawn before we know it."

"I'm… I'm giving up." Clive said in a coarse whisper. Berlitz nodded and turned away. He obviously hadn't gotten the correct meaning of what Clive had said. The younger man wiped sludge from off his clothes. Even with all the grungy muck, he could still smell the sour aroma of booze all over his body. He had never realised before just how disgusting it smelt. "No, not the search. Well, yes, the search, but not that." He clarified. "_It_. You know what I mean."

"What?" Berlitz said again, hardly daring to tempt fate, especially when Clive seemed to be panicking like he was. He flicked the shutter of the lantern down a little, turning the bright light into a dimmer hazy glow.

"The drink. I'm giving it up." The green-haired man laughed nervously. Was that all it took to quit? Definitely not. Still, the proclamation was enough, for now. Clive admitted it, he was an alcoholic and he needed help. If destroying Kaitlyn's dear little hand had not been enough, the onset of becoming a murderer became like a cold slap in the face for Clive, and he at last saw the truth. What drinking had done to him. A child-hurting murderer with mud flung all over his good name. Clive sniffed, wiping at his nose and smearing a track of muck all over his face. "No more deer hunts for me. Ever."

All Berlitz did was nod. "Yeah, me too." He replied with finality, beginning to climb the slope back onto sturdier ground. "Catherine doesn't need two drunks in the family. _One_ is too many, but I digress. It'd be better if there were none at all. It's my fault, really. My old lady sent me down there, but after she left this world, God now damn her heart, I never crawled out of that place." Clive smiled bleakly, he knew too well on what Catherine's mother had been like. It was a blessing that Catherine had turned out to be nothing like her at all.

They made their way back home, both of them swearing to come back in the afternoon and begin their search anew, and to come prepared this time. Berlitz lived by himself on the wealthier side of Humphrey's Peak, so he could be closer to his workplace, so Clive bid farewell to him just before the break of dawn in the backroads of town, where they split ways. He remembered watching Berlitz leave clearly, the senior archaeologist looking thirty years older in the diminishing darkness, wearied and haggard. Clive knew that he himself must have looked the same.

He found his way home in the usual way after a bender, by looking up and watching carefully for the building with a blue roof overhead. There were other, more efficient ways, he was sure, but this was the one that worked best for him. He opened the door with the key he had hidden under the welcome mat and staggered inside, being mindful to kick off his muddy boots before he stepped inside. His vision lurched as he stepped in though the threshold and Clive doubled over a little, feeling like he had exited one world and had entered another.

Firstly, he washed for a good long while, intent on removing all traces of mud and beer-smell, then he threw all the clothes he had been wearing into the bin. They were too dirty and tainted, even if they could be cleaned, Clive didn't think that he could wear them again. Redressing himself, he went into the kitchen and made himself an incredibly strong cup of black coffee, to take away the blight that seemed to be torturing his nerves. He took a few sips then found himself running to the bathroom and vomiting up everything he had managed to keep down from the night before, not much but enough for it to be unpleasant for him. Clive could have sworn that there were traces of blood in his vomit, but that too could have just been his imagination.

On shaky legs he crept back into the kitchen, drinking the rest of his coffee while waiting for the sun to rise. When it refused to come and Clive noticed that he was just standing there with an empty mug in his hands, he set it down on the kitchen table and went into the living room, trying to keep on the move. Catherine and Kaitlyn were asleep on the large comfy couch together, they must have waited for him until they could fight sleep no longer. Catherine's head was propped up against one of the armrests, her face serene. Her arm was around Kaitlyn, their precious little girl, her small arms looped in such a way as to substitute for a pillow. They were both sleeping deeply in a place where reality could not touch them, but Clive could see Kaitlyn's little crooked fingers buried under her locks of golden hair, and the dried trail of tears down Catherine's cheeks, had she cried all night?

Clive went to the linen closet and found a nice warm blanket, returning and draping it across the two blissfully sleeping girls, tucking it in along the edges to keep both of them comfortable. Then, wordlessly, Clive strode towards Catherine's and his own room and searched their closet until he found the rope he was looking for, thick and supportive, supposing to be used in any kind of contingency plan. He exited the back door and went into their backyard, towards a large maple tree that had stood there for many years. Clive tied the rope at the bottom to a thick peeking part of root from the ground, fashioned an adequate noose at the correct end, then threw the rest of the length across a steady branch. Stepping back, he regarded his work with a morbid kind of pride. It looked like a scene right of out a painting, he thought. Red leaves, ancient tree, dawn skies, and a hanging man. Beautiful. He watched this scene for a very long time.

By the time Kaitlyn had woken up and had gone outside to greet the new virginal day, Clive had turned the makeshift gallows into a child's swing, using a plank of wood he had found in their garden shed.

Kaitlyn never used it, not even once. She seemed to be frightened of it, or of what it had been.

And after that, Clive remained bone dry. He had never touched a drop of alcohol since then, though the temptation came to his mind every day- no, almost every waking hour. The crack of the rifle going off, the sound of that startled cry in the darkness, imaginary or not, and the tiny, pitiful imperfection of Kaitlyn's mangled digits, curled tiredly near his daughter's face. That was enough all right, it was enough to keep temptation out of, but not far from his door. Berlitz had followed Clive's example, the green-haired man often wondering how the older, more dependent man had managed to abstain at all. Well, all the more power to him, Clive supposed.

Sober, the two men had gone back to their searching anew, which became a bit of an excursion for them after work and before they were required back at home, replacing the time they had used to take at the bar and putting it into a different endeavor. The closest thing they had come to success was a scrap of red material that Berlitz had found one afternoon, but that could have come from anything, so it was ignored. Eventually, they decided to let sleeping dogs lie, and gave up altogether. What was done was done. They threw the rest of their time to their work and their families, and things almost seemed to be better.

Until Melody.

The empathite transmitter in Clive's hand gave a little buzz of activity and this was enough to pull Clive's thoughts back into the present, the now not-so-young man(Or at least it felt that way) standing in a rented inn room with the remained of his exiled family in the room next door, having dinner far away from home. The incident with Melody had been a terrible one, because it had happened when Clive had been stone cold sober. He had still lost his temper, nevertheless. Clive had always considered himself a docile man at heart, but now, from where he was, he knew that he had been lying to himself. He was a drunk no longer, but one part of his more primitive mind refused to believe that, not just yet.

Clive tilted his head a little so that his ear would be a little closer to the receiver, finding himself pacing around and around again on the cheap rug beneath him. _Dammit Berlitz, pick up!_ Clive thought desperately. _Pick up and let me get this over with!_

The transmitter made a small sound and a voice flowed out of the speaker, sounding like the voice of the old man that he remembered. "Hello?" It said cautiously. "Who is this?"

"Berlitz!" Clive exclaimed, "What took you so long! I thought you practically _lived_ in your office nowadays. You weren't-"

"No." Came the abrupt reply. "I'm dry. What about you?"

"Drier than this damned planet." Clive replied with a bitter smirk. "Listen, I wanted to call and thank you for wheedling that job out of the duke, that really was above and beyond. Thank you." Even if the duke _was_ a madman, that was still okay. As long as Clive got paid, _anything_ was okay.

"Well, you know. I want you, my daughter and granddaughter to be happy. I thought this job might fix up what- well… you know what I am referring to…" Clive nodded unconsciously, he did indeed know very well. Thank God Berlitz was not stating the obvious, Clive certainly was not in the mood for _that_. "Clive," Berlitz continued, "I am working very hard at convincing the town that what they did to you was far too hasty. People listen to an old experienced coot like me, I believe that by the end of winter, they might lift the exile over you and your family. I really want to see Catherine and little Kaitlyn again."

"Godammit." Clive said warmly into the receiver. "I do not deserve a father-in-law like you."

"Take good care of yourselves this winter."

"I promise you, we will. If this does not work, we will _make_ it work. Now-" He felt somebody tug at his red coat and Clive looked down. Kaitlyn was there and extending her arms upward, desiring the transmitter for herself. It looked like she wanted to talk with her grandfather. That was the odd thing about Kaitlyn, she knew things in advance. Clive nodded down at her. "Yes, Kaitie does want to speak to you. She will rip my coat if I do not allow it. She is a big brute, you know." All of them, including Berlitz on transmitter, laughed at this. Clive knelt down at handed Kaitlyn the transmitter, patting her softly on the head.

"Grandpa!" She exclaimed, beginning her own conversation with the older man.

Clive went back into the kitchen, met with, and eradicated his dinner. It was a little cold, but he didn't mind. Catherine was already doing the dishes nearby, silent, not facing him. Clive did not notice this. His mind was still far away, back in Humphrey's Peak three years ago, back during the dark night with its single, solitary cry, the one that had changed Clive's life. It was also in the future too, in the Heaven that they were going to protect and live in. Clive thought that now, this might be the only thing that would save his marriage.

He would just have to wait and see.


	6. Pt I: Prefatory Matters, Night Thoughts

Chapter Six, Night Thoughts

It was later than it should have been and Catherine could not sleep. Part of the problem was that they were yet again resting within an unfamiliar landscape, and she was staring up at an unrecognizable ceiling, old and made of greying drywall. The candlelight gave vague definition to the darkened room, where Catherine could see enough by when she sat up to spot Kaitlyn sleeping in her makeshift bed, two plushy chairs pushed together with a thick blanket covering her, keeping her warm in the cold, cold night. It was the best blanket the inn room had been issued with and she definitely didn't want her daughter to catch cold, besides, she had Clive to keep her warm instead.

He was already asleep next to her, immersed in whatever peace he could find after his nighttime desires had been fulfilled. Catherine's worry kept her up though, as it usually did, and she found herself thinking about both the past and the future, Clive's gentle breathing a background to her thoughts. The Heaven they were about to move into was a prominent part in them, and despite what she had told Kaitlyn earlier, she did have her doubts on whether Clive's choice of action had been the best one. She hated the idea of bringing Kaitlyn into a place filled with monsters, caged that they may be, but what else could they do? There was just no other option left.

Clive was such a stubborn man, he had been that way all his life, but Catherine in her early love for him had mistaken it as simple determination. Her naivete amongst such matters like character judgement had gotten the best of her. She wasn't admitting that she didn't love her husband, on the contrary, she loved him as dearly as she ever did, but sometimes wondered if she could have had a better life had she not been swayed by her father's recommendations and Clive's dashing words, looks and personality. She, being the daughter of a successful archaeological professor somehow always knew that she would marry one of her father's colleagues someday, but when Clive had been introduced to her, well, it had become much easier for her to simply go along with tradition.

But Berlitz's motivation with pushing herself and Clive together might not have been a totally virtuous one. It was true that Clive was the suitor that her estranged mother had hated the most, probably because of Clive's similar resentment towards the woman, yet it had given Catherine a morbid kind of satisfaction to relent to Clive's advances and please her father at the same time, further infuriating her mother. She had always been a Daddy's Girl, and her mother had always had a personal vendetta against the both of them. There was nothing they could do about it, it was just the way things had been, for as far back as Catherine could remember.

Berlitz had escaped his problems by drowning himself in alcohol and moving away from her, forcing a separation. Catherine had hated her mother the most of all for that, for driving her father into a problem that slightly affected him still, even though he had been dry for almost three years now. Clive had been her ticket out of that hell, so she had taken it without hesitation. She had had enough of the bullying, the criticism and the false guilt and now it was no more. With Clive, she was free.

Clive had told her once, in a bed not dissimilar to this one that her mother had been nothing but an angry ghost, and that as long as she had nobody to haunt and bother, her cries would at last be silent for good. It was worth it to let the dead rest, after all, even if her mother was still alive. Catherine had concurred with a smile that still smacked of pure, unadulterated innocence, unaware of what was to come.

On a day just like any other day, Clive proposed marriage. It had been a mundane task she had been doing at the time, peeling potatoes, she thought, when Clive had just stood up from the table and said it, as smoothly and as easily as if he were asking for the time of day. Indeed, Catherine had to think for a few short moments on what he had said. "This isn't really the right time or place to ask me that, Clive." She demurred with a playful smile.

"On the contrary," Clive objected, "This is indeed the perfect time." He gave her one of his all-knowing stares and continued. "Did you expect it to be a special occasion, a magical time?"

"Well, I-" Catherine began.

Clive silenced her with a mere dismissive gesture. "_Anybody_ would expect The Question on a special evening. It is common. I wanted this moment to be unique from all the other proposals of the world, so here it is, brought forth from my satirical wit. Will you have me?"

Catherine laughed and said that she would, and in the following spring they were wed with moderate splendor in a ceremony that all their friends and family attended, except for one. This was the way that her mother had chosen to show her resentment for Berlitz and Clive, and though it did hurt her a little and slightly dampen her big day, she had her father and brand new husband to keep her spirits high.

That had been nine years ago, and it seemed like another life. Back then, there had been so very much to learn.

When Kaitlyn had come, it had forced a bitter reconciliation between herself and her mother. She had wanted both her parents to see her beautiful new baby girl, and Clive and Berlitz both agreed; they would never hear the end of it if they kept the child from her grandmother. When Catherine and Kaitlyn went there, Clive and Berlitz would spend their time together, probably getting as drunk as they could, for she could always smell the alcohol on his clothes whenever they returned home.

He had always been a drinker, in the beginning Catherine had accepted it as just a part of who Clive was, but with a baby in the family now… well, she just didn't like it anymore. But what could she do? She didn't want to badger him about it, that had been a trademark of Kaitlyn's grandmother. All alcohol aside, however, Clive had turned out to be almost the perfect father for Kaitlyn, for oh how she adored him so!

Sometimes Kaitlyn would cry all night and only become placated when back in her father's arms. Clive could make her eat when Catherine could not, and he tried to include Kaitlyn into almost everything he did, even with a task as boring as writing out historical theorems. Clive would explain everything to the gurgling and giggling six-month-old like he was lecturing a dedicated student, so when Catherine stood in the doorframe and watched all this happen, she felt a great love for the both of them and also a sad feeling of exclusion. Kaitlyn was _her_ daughter, but she was bonding to Clive far faster than she. She was to be a Daddy's Girl, just like Catherine had before her. She was happy, but at the same time felt immensely sad. Catherine had closed the door noiselessly in the end.

Knowing that she was to be excluded from her little daughter's heart did nothing to push Kaitlyn out of her own. She _loved_ her more than anything she thought she could ever love before, and admitted to herself that at times she only had stayed with Clive for Kaitlyn's benefit, not because of her own personal feelings for him. Clive's drinking had steadily gotten worse over the years, like a wasting disease in his body, but whenever she would toy with the idea of a separation near Kaitlyn, she could always feel Kaitlyn's scared and almost accusatory eyes burning into her back and her mind, confused and wondering why. Catherine knew that Clive's drinking wouldn't remain harmless forever, and that she should take the initiative and leave her husband while she still could, but Kaitlyn's sheer force of silent will had kept the family bound tightly together.

There were times when Catherine regarded her daughter with wonderment and sometimes fear, it could easily be seen that Kaitlyn was a special girl, she certainly was one that required more careful care, due to her epilepsy, yet instances would occur when Catherine would wonder if there was more to her daughter than what could immediately be seen. In some everyday activities, she would sometimes totally halt what she was doing and look up at her mother with tearful eyes, demanding answers to questions that a child should not have to say. "Do you love daddy?" "Does daddy love me?" "Will we go away?"

When Clive had broken Kaitlyn's hand the questions suddenly went away. Kaitlyn was probably too occupied with her own pains to worry about the ones of her parents, if only for a little while. That was when Catherine had made the decision; as soon as Kaitlyn's hand was well, she and her would leave Clive for good. Clive could drink himself to Hell if he wanted, but there was _no way_ that he was taking Kaitlyn with her. Kaitlyn's little mangled hand was the straw that broke the camel's back, and she could take it no longer.

So her marriage had been a failure. Catherine could deal with the fact that she had not been a good enough wife to keep her husband happy enough so that he could stay sober, and she could almost deal with the fact that her failure to do this was damaging her daughter, day by day. But she couldn't, and this was what scared her the most, she couldn't deal with the fact that her horrible, overbearing bitch of a mother had been absolutely right. Clive had ruined her chances for a happier life.

Tears stung her eyes as she packed to leave, rifling though the drawers back in the old Humphrey's Peak home. Clive was out yet again that night, doing God knows what with God knows whom. But this time, when he came home, he would have no family left to welcome him. It awoke a cruel satisfaction deep within her to note this, a feeling that felt altogether too much like her mother. Momentarily, Catherine felt ashamed.

"Yes Kaitlyn," Catherine had said quietly in the dark room, "We will go away."

Kaitlyn had shifted uncomfortably in her deep sleep.

Everything had been packed, the suitcase bursting with all the belongings that they wanted or needed. Catherine picked up her sleeping five year old daughter and looked out the window. It was about three AM. Time to go, they would take the first train of the morning to a better place. She could hear her mother laughing in her head. _Just like your father, daddy's little girl._ Came the crowing, _Do as I did and leave him, you'll be better for it in the long run. It's all your fault, you know. You should have listened to me. But alas, it's too late for it now. One day your girl will realise the same thing._

Catherine put the suitcase down and sat down upon the living room couch. She felt the prickling of tears beginning anew. "Oh Jesus…" She whispered hoarsely, clutching her daughter more tightly to her bosom, "…Where did it all go wrong?"

"Mommy…" Kaitlyn slurred sleepily, only fractionally awake in her mother's lap. "Jet says that Daddy shot a deer. He's scared, there was an accident…"

"Shh, honey." Catherine cooed on reflex, stroking her daughter's hair. "It's okay, it is only a bad dream."

"…Daddy, Grandpa and Jet are scared… They dunno what to do…" The girl protested weakly, before slipping off into sleep again. This would be the first mention of Jet that Catherine was to ever hear, but she did not know it, just yet. The two girls feel asleep on the couch there, Catherine unable to leave and escape to a better life.

Clive had come back after the two of them had fallen asleep. The next day, he had made Kaitlyn a swing for her to play on. He never saw Catherine's suitcase, and if he did, he chose not to mention it. An uneasy time of stability came over the Winslett family after that night. Clive, pale and tight-lipped, refused to touch a drop of alcohol from then onwards. Catherine foggily connected this to the words of her sleepy daughter, but was always afraid to ask Clive about his 'accident', in case the inquiry would prompt him to begin drinking anew. The thoughts of separation began to drift farther and farther from the front of Catherine's mind, she could now see how hard Clive was working to battle this inner demon of his, and admittedly, it was making her fall in love with him, all over again. Things seemed to be going okay again, finally. The voices of her mother and conscience were silent.

That is, until Melody.

Lying back down again, Catherine rolled over and into Clive's arms, seeking his warmth. Her story was far from over yet, she had a feeling, somehow, that it had only just begun. The past aside, she loved her husband and her daughter, and tomorrow, they would go to the Heaven arranged for them and see if the isolation would save their marriage. The only thing that could reside in a Heaven was either salvation or rejection. If this could be the ultimate challenge to their marital vows, it would decide for her whether to leave or stay.

Clive's deep breathing, nearly bordering on a snore was soothing and familiar to her ears. It helped her close her eyes again and drift off into a small sleep. For now, just for now, at least, she would have to trust in her husband's decision and see what the Heaven held there for herself.


	7. Pt I: Prefatory Matters, Another Mind

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Chapter Seven, Another Mind

While Clive and Catherine slept, Kaitlyn dreamed.

They were dreams of unease and indecision, the little girl finding herself strandedon an alien landscape. She was fully aware that her real body was sleeping quietly upon a small bed in her parents' inn room, but her other real body, the one she was using right now, was far, far away from that.

But she was not alone. Jet was there beside her, holding her hand. She could not turn her head to see him, but just by his particular grip she could tell he was there. The landscape around them was windy and barren, like a wasteland freezing in the cold absence of warmth. Kaitlyn's little arms went rigid and she shivered from the extreme drop in temperature, sharp gusts of air stinging against her cheek. Jet's hand did not tremble against hers, he must have not felt the cold at all.

**__**

Come here! Come HERE!

"Where are we, Jet?" Kaitlyn asked somewhat calmly. "I haven't been here before." She looked up and her eyes widened. "What's _that_?"

A building lay within the center of the cold sandstorm, the same desolate greyish-brown as the rocks and cliffs around it. It looked like an isolated castle in the middle of nowhere, a castle with no kingdom to command, except for the cold winds and the blowing grains of sand. It seemed like a toy from the distance Kaitlyn and Jet were standing at, but she could see the clear empty windows still, like the dark empty eye sockets from the skull of a rotted demonic creature. A bad feeling came from those distant windows, one that Kaitlyn definitely did not like. She could almost hear cries coming from there, the voice hauntingly familiar.

**_Come out, you little bitch! I'll find you! I'll find you!_**

_That's Heaven._ Jet said, talking from far away. _Be careful there, kid. Be careful. I can't follow you there, just like **it** can't get you here, outside of its home. **It** won't let me._

Kaitlyn didn't like what Jet was saying. "Why? How come?" She demanded. "You've been with me forever and ever now, Jet. Please don't go away." Kaitlyn managed to turn her head and look up at her imaginary friend. He had light purple eyes and pretty silver hair. He smiled ruefully.

__

I can't go to heaven, not just yet. Not until it is finished. Beware of the clock when it strikes midnight, they devote themselves when their numbers are full and the chimera comes out to birth another head. Beware of the women who died most foul and beware of the creatures that live and die in misery. And-

Jet's volume dropped dramatically, he suddenly became mute, though his lips still moved as he continued to speak. Jet didn't seem to notice the change. Kaitlyn blinked a few times, perplexed, then turned away to look back at the distant castle. As she did this, Jet's hand slipped away from hers and was lost. When she turned back he was gone. Kaitlyn was kind of expecting this, it was what Jet did at times.

**_You bitch! You fucking bitch! Disrespect me, will you!_**

_Who keeps on yelling? Its scary…_ Kaitlyn wondered, wrapping her small arms around herself to protect herself from the cold.

A monster roared.

From the castle, came the cheer of a hundred people.

Then a scream, resonant, comprised of all voices.

Then silence.

But in that silence, Kaitlyn could have sworn that she heard quiet, unnerving laugher. It had been day when the dream had begun, but now, without any noticeable kind of transition, it was night. She immediately became fearful of the Thing she had seen in her last vision, the thing that had smelt sour and spoke of poison and  
(redrum)  
evil things and chased her with a weapon that would surely kill her with no difficulty. This castle was its home, it lived here and it was waiting for her, waiting for her…

In Heaven.

xxx

Kaitlyn awoke in a bath of her own sweat, panting and gasping, trying vainly to get her heartbeat down to a minimum pulse. Tears stung her eyes and she started to cry, wanting her daddy to wake up and make her feel better again (But mommy had said that daddy needed his sleep and wasn't to be disturbed), and if not that, she wanted Jet to come back and offer a friendly smile or two. The darkness was scary to her, as it was closing all around her. The nightmare was scary to her too, as it had left her all alone, but she was frightened the most because of all the things that had happened to her, the things that terrified her, there was nobody left to make her feel better.

She started to cry a little harder now, but self-consciousness caused her tears to peter off almost as quickly as they had begun. Crying would get her nowhere while her parents slept and Kaitlyn knew this. Rubbing her eyes with her balled fists, she sniffed harshly and trembled once again from the cold, momentarily reminded of the coldness of her dreams. Bitterly, she kicked off her blankets to feel the sensation again. Jet was smart, and Jet always knew what was best for her, for he knew all about Kaitlyn's secrets and wants. If he was afraid of the Gunner's Heaven, where daddy was to be going, then should Kaitlyn not be afraid as well? Truthfully, she was, but more than half of her mindtrusted her daddy more than it trusted Jet.

For if she could not trust daddy, then who else could she trust?

Sliding off the two chairs that made up her small bed, Kaitlyn forsook the warm blankets that had been given to her and walked upon bare feet towards her parent's bed, standing on tip-toes to look above it inquisitively. She knew she was not allowed to wake her daddy, but would it really be so wrong to sleep next to him this night, just this once? While things were still semi-okay?

She picked up a fragment of Clive's dreams. They were dark and repulsive to her mind, filled with things she did not understand. Unperturbed, she dragged her large blanket over to the bed and took the time to spread it over both her parents, struggling with the difficulty of the task with only one proper hand to work with. Now, she crawled in beside her father, close to the edge of the bed. It was much warmer than she could have hoped, while from her vantage point, she could see the windows and the moving gnarled branches of trees outside them. They seemed to be scratching at the glass, as if out to get her, just like the Thing of her dreams.

Now Kaitlyn knew one thing for certain, cemented firmly into her mind. Tomorrow they would leave Little Twister and head towards the Gunner's Heaven, the place where Jet was afraid to tread. And Redrum was there. She knew not what it was, but the Thing was its Prophet, and the Redrum its God.

So wherever the Heaven may be, Redrum was there too.


	8. Pt II: Closing Day, That's Heaven

Chapter Eight, That's Heaven

Kaitlyn had greatly enjoyed the long train ride towards Sunset Peak in the morning, when the air had been fresh and rushing briskly against the open window and Kaitlyn's face, the sun newly risen in the sky. She had been roused from her sleep just before daybreak by her father, as had been the plan, dressed, ate a hasty breakfast and departed towards the train station upon Clive's aging mare, seated in front of Catherine so that she would not fall off. Clive had been walking beside them, faithfully holding onto the reins.

They didn't have to take much with them for two reasons. Everything they would need would already be there at the Heaven, ready for usage, and they did not have much to take with them anyway. Depressing, but hopefully not for long. Kaitlyn could understand Clive's opinion of the horse now, she was slow and plodding and broken, with a deep curve in her spine where the rider was meant to be.It reminded her of an old lady and she had felt bad for so carelessly sitting on her back.

Clive was slightly worried that the mare would not last as long as he needed her to. She was not a sickly animal, but was very worn by age and unreliable to their needs. To compensate, they had left earlier in case they were forced to walk to the station, mindful of some sort of injury on the horse's part. Clive knew it would be better to be safe than sorry, especially if his new job was on the line. They should get there in time for their train. Clive was sure of it.

Fortune was with them and the animal held up for the entire journey to Westwood Station, where Clive respectfully gave her an apple and sent her on her way. Kaitlyn waved goodbye as the horse lumbered away, but was quickly ushered into the underground station by both of her rushing parents. There was a building beneath the green Westwood soil, she found it funny that it was so contrary to current reality. She had been in train stations before, but nothing like this. Provided, this wasn't the first time she had been in this building, they had come from Humphrey's Peak using this rail line, but she had been sound asleep then, having fallen into a slumber on the train.

This time she was awake and it was simply a novel experience. The train ride was fun, Kaitlyn deciding that when she got older she would have to make a great many more of these trips in the future. It was like the world was running away from her, from all her family, taking all the bad things along with it. It seemed true when she looked at her parents, there was nothing bad living within their minds at the moment, even daddy's Bad Thing seemed to have been swept away by the blessed pulling of the train. Kaitlyn liked this part most of all.

First there was darkness in the tunnel, dotted with sparse sparkling lights, paraffin lanterns hooked onto the walls. They were like lasers flashing past, protected from the wind in the tunnel by their glassy containers. Far stronger than this, a much brighter light engulfed the carriage and they were outdoors again, the sun momentarily blinding them for a second. There were paddocks and fields, some empty and already grazed for their sweet grass, others housing horses and cattle and other beasts of burden. There was to be another tunnel coming up soon that would take them deep under the ocean of sand towards the next continent, but Kaitlyn just wanted to look at the farm animals until then.

"Cathy, what is the difference between a lifesaver and your father?" Clive asked, smiling as he looked out of the window with Kaitlyn in his lap. He found himself thinking of the strangest things as he watched the farmlands go by, most of them fond memories of his own distant childhood on the farm, where his parents had worked tirelessly to send him through the trials of school. Things had been harder back then, but at the same time, so much easier.

"I don't know, they are both brightly colored?" She guessed.

"No."

"They both float on water?"

"Uh-uh."

"They are both big and round?"

"Hah, good point, but no."

"They both have a hole in the middle?" Kaitlyn innocently piped in, coming out of her quiet little shell for a few seconds.

Clive tried hard not to laugh and succeeded in shaking his head. "No, no. Incorrect. Do you know what the difference is?"

"I suppose not, Honey." Catherine smiled, "What is it?"

"No difference." Clive answered at last, and started to laugh. There was a considerable degree of relief in his laughter. Catherine paused for a second to get the joke and then faithfully joined in with him. So he was still thinking about that as well, but at least he had found the frame of mind to joke about it. That seemed like progress to Catherine, good progress.

The second tunnel grabbed them after a time and they were once more plunged into darkness. Clive started to make ghost noises in order to make Kaitlyn feel better, until the little girl began to lightly job him in the ribs with her small elbow, prompting him to finally quit it. Only babies were scared of the dark, and Kaitlyn knew that this darkness was harmless; she had been through much, _much_ worse. But that was so far away at the moment, so she ignored the thought for now. As long as she was here, in her daddy's lap, nothing would ever be able to hurt her.

The ride took longer than what Kaitlyn would have guessed and by the time they had reached the warming platform of Sunset Peak station, the respectable sun was now reaching the pinnacle of its ascent in the sky. Clive checked it and took note. Good, they were running a little early. Time would favor them should something choose to go wrong. Catherine and Clive gave Kaitlyn their used-up tickets, for the girl had expressed a desire to start a collection of the things. One of the Duke's servants would be waiting outside the station with some horses for them to use, as per the plan. Pertaining to their earliness, Clive wondered if the servant had gotten there yet.

He was not disappointed. A young green-haired teen was loitering by the ticket booth, two strong horses tethered calmly to one of the fence posts. One was a pretty whitish-grey with small dapples, the other was a dark black one with a glossy shine. They were most likely the most expensive animals Clive had ever seen. Walking up to the lad, Clive affably nodded his head in greeting. "Sorry we are late." He said, wanting to see the youth's reaction.

The boy's head snapped up, he had been previously wandering off in his own little world. Rubbing a smudge of dirt from his cheek, he straightened up like a soldier addressing their captain. "Oh no, sir! We just got here ourselves, if anything you are early!"

"I know." Clive said benevolently, "I was only testing you. You are an emissary from the Duke Begucci?"

"Yes sir. My name is Pike, I'm the ostler for the Gunner's Heaven." He relaxed somewhat, now aware that formality was not needed. He seemed to be simply a county boy at heart, with a job that far exceeded his breeding, at least from an upper-class point of view. But that view was not Clive's, so he was not aggravated in the least when the boy let out a soft sigh of relief. "These are the last two stallions left here, the rest have been shipped to Claiborne for the winter. I'm shipping myself there too, once you take these ones out of my hands. The stable boy will walk them back here after you're done with them. The white one there, his name is Music, and the black one's name is Crochet. They're pretty meek, but they can have their wild moments. You know about horses?"

Clive shrugged. "What adult doesn't?"

He didn't mean his reply to be offensive, but Pike took it as a blow against his profession. His tone became rather dry. "The Duke wants to personally show your family around his Heaven, he's quite proud of it. I'm just glad I'm going home." He gave both the reins to Clive, then purchased a ticket and ascended the staircase to wait for the next train. One of the horses shook his head at the tautness of the reins, snorting.

Kaitlyn wanted to ride on the pretty white horse, so Clive helped her get onto the back of the animal and then saddled up behind her. The white horse whinnied when he felt the extra weight. "I'm listening to Music!" Kaitlyn exclaimed, giggling. Clive also smiled at her remark, always pleased when his daughter showed such wit. Gently, he dug his heels into the sides of the beast and Music trotted forward, instinctively waiting for its companion animal to join them. They must have both been carriage horses together in the service of the Duke, for both of them appeared to be unable to move forward without the other at its side. That worked fine for Clive and Catherine, just fine and dandy to them both.

Though the horses looked and felt proud, they were also quite functional and obeyed their commands without fault. They headed in the direction of the Gunner's Heaven, the place where adventurers and warriors would gather to test their strength. A beaten path wound up and through the small cliffs that edged the area of Sunset Peak, hardly dangerous, but still annoying.

Clive pondered, as he had the day before when he embarked on his job interview, about the number of people that had trodden this path only to be beaten down in the arena, into the smears of blood and snot and saliva that had coated the ring. And the nobles would have cheered, and the life was spared to be removed from the spotlight and sent limping home with whatever parts of themselves they had left. This was not a road to purification and honor, as many had said, but a road from perdition and disgrace. Yet he could agree with the next thought he had had. Whatever pleased mankind was to be shown to all, regardless of morals and ethics, and some people, himself included, partook in the feast. The pang of desire burnt in his chest for a few seconds, for a simple tiny sip of drink, but he bravely forced it away. Not now. Not ever.

"Look, there it is." He said instead.

It appeared at the edge of the rising horizon, like a small shapeless grey blob amongst other blobs, slowly gaining distinction as the trio grew near. Clive had seen the sight before but Catherine had not, and she let out a little something that was like an exclamation of surprise. "Oh, Clive!" She said, amazed and drawing both of her hands near her face, "That big castle… Is that the place we will be staying at?"

Clive smiled and looked knowingly at Catherine, pleased by her response to their new temporary home. Subconsciously he licked his lips. "Yes Catherine, that's Heaven. It is quite a sight, is it not?"

Gunner's Heaven was, in more technical terms, more of a keep than a castle. High granite walls surrounded a reinforced stone body, like rocky skin upon a great ancient beast. Its navel was a huge oaken door, crisscrossed by particularly attractive iron grapevine hinges and knocker, far too big for a mere human to operate by themselves. Small windows higher up in the keep's walls were sometimes accompanied by balconies looking out across the lands beyond, and all in all, the building must have been large enough to comfortably house a thousand lively men. Like a dragon within a great slumber upon a desolate wasteland.

This was what Kaitlyn saw. To the others, it appeared as a shining beacon of hope, the hope to start things anew. Kaitlyn looked down at the borrowed horse's stronger flank. The animal was unfamiliar and somewhat haughty of its position, this made Kaitlyn idly wish that she were back with that old straggly mare once again. She recognized the Heaven, it was the place within her dreams, or her nightmares. And Jet wasn't here this time to make the nightmares go away. She had to rely on her father now, more than anything else.

And there was still the question of the Thing within that place, Kaitlyn certainly didn't want to run into it in the future. But Daddy said it was safe, then shouldn't she believe him? It was merely a reiteration of her thoughts the night before, but they still rung as clear and as true as they had done so previously.

Despite this, like the bite of a mosquito long thought to be swatted, the sharp sting of dread pierced the back of her neck in the form of an inner shriek of memories, the voice of the Thing, the hundred screaming voices, and the murmur of the Heaven itself.


	9. Pt II: Closing Day, Checking It Out

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Chapter Nine, Checking It Out

The duke was waiting for them in the main foyer of the Heaven, standing by the registration desk. The Winslett family entered via the smaller yet still beautiful side door of the building, immediately finding themselves finding themselves standing upon plush red carpet, the room illuminated by bright tallow candles. Like an ant's nest, people moving to and fro seemed to give the Winsletts a generally wide berth, allowing them to feel like intruders into another world. The place was bustling and alive inside, servants, fighters and plain visitors alike scurrying around to make the final preparations for their departure. The room was stone and quite echoey, but the cold was dispelled by the light of the fires and heartily warmed, also warmed in a similar way by the presence of the industrious, moving people.

Somebody pushing a trolley filled with weapons slid past Kaitlyn, some looking a little familiar to her and others seeming completely foreign. She watched the trolley get pushed away with growing curiosity. A few she had seen in picture books and her father's historical reports, but the one other weapon there she stared at intently, for she had seen it before. "What's that, Daddy?" She asked, pointing towards it innocently. By the time Clive had looked the trolley had already disappeared into a corridor, so it confused him a little more. Kaitlyn decided to drop the question then, she'd ask it if she could at a later date, probably.

The duke swept up to them, a congenial smile on his face. The Winsletts were an attractive family altogether, a learned and scholarly father, a stunning yet down to earth mother, and a gorgeous blonde little girl. _How lovely._ The duke thought. He was regarding the wife in particular, and at how people seemed to stop and notice her as she went by. It was simply wonderful.

"A pleasure to see you all, truly!" He exclaimed, taking Clive's hand and shaking it vigorously. Clive almost shrunk away from the older man's touch, remembering Ortega's story about the wife and two children, but then relaxed and obligingly shook the man's hand again. He was an uppity son of a bitch, but as long as he would show courtesy to his family, then Clive was prepared to do the same. "However, I was expecting you slightly later in the day." The duke continued, his tone dropping a little.

"Yes, my apologies regarding that." Clive replied cautiously. "We left earlier because we were anticipating a delay that did not come, and didn't wish to keep you waiting any longer than you desired to. The horses you leant us were very useful, thank you for that. This is my family." He gestured towards the two girls. "My wife Catherine, and my daughter Kaitlyn. I am sure they are more than pleased to make your acquaintance." And if they weren't, they sure were good at hiding it well, Catherine even trying to pull off what she considered to be a grand curtsey.

Changing his tune rather fast, the duke shook his head and let go of Clive's hands. "No, no. It is of no consequence, really. I was merely talking out loud. As you can see, departure preparations have yet to be completed. This is our busiest time. Mrs. Winslett," He bowed gracefully to her, almost seeming to be about to kiss her hand, "I do hope that you enjoy your stay here. Our kitchens are the finest on the continent, I expect that they will meet your standards. The cook shall be more than obliged to show you around," He sniffed, "I daresay he knows more about the subject than I do."

"I look forward to it, sir." Catherine smiled in reply. To be honest, anything with a stove, a pantry and a sink would be good enough for her. She was still a little overwhelmed at the sheer size of the place and the knowledge that they would be taking care of it for over three months. She hoped that Kaitlyn wouldn't get lost in such a huge expanse of building. She hoped the same thing of herself, too. Benevolent owner or not, this place was still dangerous.

Duke Begucci turned to Kaitlyn. Solemnly she shook the older man's hand. "Well, my dear. What do you think of my Heaven so far?" He asked.

"It's very big, your highness." She answered quietly, looking up at him carefully.

Cain found this excessively funny and began to chuckle. "'Your Highness'? Not quite, but an interesting concept nevertheless. What a polite little girl. This little room is the only the beginning, there is much, much more to my kingdom, I assure you. I would like to show you as much as I can, time permitting. Is there anything you have specific questions about at the moment? I would be more than happy to explain."

"What's on those trolleys that the people keep on pushing through?" Kaitlyn asked him, becoming reminded of her query as another load of weapons were carted through the foyer. Outside they were being loaded onto a small wagon and being moved to the large storage shed at the back of the Heaven, where they would gather dust until the fighting arena would be reopened again. The gunpowder and ammunition was being stored separately in the basement, rending the weapons useless for current use. It was just as well, for who knew what kind of lunatic would steal a loaded weapon when they had the chance?

The duke put a hand on one of the passing trolleys and the servant stopped pushing it, so Cain could point to any weapon that he wanted. "Assorted weaponry that is usually used during gladiatorial matches. Generally we allow a participant to select one had they not brought their own. It happens more often than not, but we charge for ammunition and ranged weaponry because they are spent or destroyed during the match." The duke continued to explain proudly. "We have swords, claymores, scimitars, rapiers, zweihanders and daggers. Spears, pikes, maces, flails, javelins, combat claws, axes, staves, slings, old-fashioned bows and arrows and most prominently, just about every gun in existence."

"What's that one?" Said Kaitlyn, pointing to a weapon that she recognised. It was a large gun with a big black tube with glass over a longer metally tube, the part that a person holds onto made from a rich dark wood, capped with metal on the end. It was nestled near a few other weapons on the trolley, but stood out because of its size and gleaming black metal finish. The other weapons seemed pale and translucent in comparison. The last time she had seen it, it had been covered in blood and booming, booming all around her.

Clive took over. "That is a bolt-action Gungnir .35 rifle, I believe. It has a two shell capacity when unmodified, four at the most if it has been tinkered with. Any more than that might jeopardize the balance of the weapon. I used to have one of those back when I was younger. The two hundred and fifty meter flyshoot was my specialty…" He adjusted his glasses, "I thought it best to give it up after my eyes lost their edge. There was no point anymore. They are superb for sniping from a long distance, but for things like close-range combat matches, I don't think-"

"Indeed, that is why they are not employed too often. Yet we keep then available should an inexperienced newbie wish to try it out. It is," The look on the duke's face showed mischievous satisfaction, "A good way to flush out participants who should not be here in the first place."

"It all sounds so barbaric." Catherine murmured disapprovingly, looking at Kaitlyn. She was listening to the conversation of the two men, but she wasn't sure just how much Kaitlyn understood of it.

"Be that as it may, my dear lady," Duke Begucci said graciously to Catherine, "Barbarity is my trade. I seek excellence and perfection in all my endeavors. I cannot tolerate too coarse a material to work with in my art. Those belong in the scrap heap."

"I suppose…" She replied lowly, not wanting to see through the duke's point of view. "But why bring more pain and suffering into the world in the name of recreation and art? I know I should not question, but I cannot help it, I do want to question…"

"Catherine…" Clive muttered, annoyed. "Stop it."

"No, I like this conversation." Cain said to Clive, to calm the green-haired man down. He spread his hands a little, like a scale trying to weigh two different units of mass. "Let me see, how can I best put this…" He paused for a few moments. "This is indeed for the purpose of recreation and art. Art attains beauty by breaking the boundaries of human interest and introducing something new into the life of the viewer. Whether the material is paint, clay, words or the spilling off blood is irellivent, the audience will always applaud at a fantastic scene in the end. I do not force these men to enter the arena and fight for their lives and for glory. They travel across the face of this planet and pay me to stand on my stage and act out the most ferocious of performances. Their triumphs are real, etched into the minds of those who witness them! Their pains are deified! When the spectators cheer, they are alive! They live within the promise of death!" The duke's smile was almost shark-like. "And their victories, they are mine also. They are my art."

Catherine bit her lip and looked away. She didn't want to agree with him, but she didn't want to argue anymore either. The duke was clearly a better orator than she, and all this talk of bloodshed was making her anxious.

Kaitlyn sensed that the duke was not in essence a bad man, although he had done terribly bad things, like an old piece of silk that had been tied up into a knotty, tangled mess. There was also a shadow across him though, the shadow of inevitable responsibility. Kaitlyn could see that the duke had been running from it, as far and as fast as he could. That was why she didn't like him, it was something she couldn't really help.

"Be heartened that you will not have to deal with anything more than feeding the monsters, Mr. Winslett. It should not be too difficult for you to-" A flourish of voices rose from behind the mahogany curtains near the registration desk. Somebody yelled out in pain and there was a general scuffle, Catherine instinctively putting her hands over Kaitlyn's ears before the swearing began. The curtains were ripped aside and a heavily muscled fighter burst in, roaring about there being a piece of twisted metal in his shoulder. Indeed they could all see it peeking out from the bloody gash in the flesh, a piece of shrapnel that must have burst during the last gladiatorial match. Kaitlyn's head was turned by her mother so that she would not have to see the injury. "Is there a problem, Andrew?" The duke asked, plainly seeing that there was.

"Get this fucking piece of metal outta me!" The fighter yelled angrily, raising a meaty fist.

"You know the infirmary is to your left. Please take your injury there, you are making a scene. I am sure that nurse Cheville would be more than happy to see to you." Said Cain, turning towards the wounded man. He was talking slowly and very carefully, like he was dealing with either a drunk, a very stupid person or a child. He did not seem disturbed by this intrusion into his conversation, he merely seemed irritated by it. It must be good PR tolerance, Clive thought, knowing that had his family not been here and had he been in the duke's shoes, he may have reacted in a drastically different way.

"Fuck that! I ain't letting that lunatic look at me! Uhngh, I think this things is made of lead or something! Get it outta me now!" The fighter was beginning to look scared. Lead poisoning was a serious thing. If left untreated, it could lead to death. As uneducated as the thug was, Clive could clearly see that he knew this. Most likely it was nothing more than a piece of iron or steel, as they held their shape better than a more malleable substance like gold or lead, but try telling that to somebody who looked like they could easily break you in two if they so desired. Duke Begucci looked like a twig with a moustache in comparison.

"…Very well. Come with me and we shall find a medipack to use." He turned back to the Winsletts. "I am so sorry, but a pressing duty stays me. Please be patient and I shall return as promptly as I possible can. I will just excuse myself now…" He guided the bleeding man out of the main hallway and into the direction of the infirmary, the fighter moaning all the while.

Now that they were gone, Catherine removed her hands from Kaitlyn's ears, relieved. The little girl shook her head a bit, freeing her golden curls from where they had been trapped. "I don't like these people." Catherine stated, "I'll feel a lot better once they get going away from here."

"Just be patient, dear." Clive told her. "Perhaps I should not have been so adamant about arriving on time. We have indeed gotten here too early. However at least this place is not as empty as a morgue just yet, right? I rather like the air of a place with purpose." He took in a deep breath. It smelt slightly of monsters, the ones hidden far down in the basements below their feet, but there was also the smell of musky flowers, fresh cliff side air, the ancient dust trapped within the blood-red rugs, the smell of age itself. It smelt somewhat of accumulated memory.

"That man didn't want to help the other man." Kaitlyn mentioned out loud. "He only helped because we were watching him. It was for his… rep… repoo. Reputation."

"More often than not people are like that, Kaitie honey." Clive said soberly, putting a hand to Kaitlyn's back. "Not everyone is nice to everybody else. It is because of tolerance-, no, that is a bad analogy… It is more like… Hmm." Clive came up with something and he smiled. "Do you remember back when you were in preschool, and sometimes you would come home with a picture for mommy and me? One that you drew all by yourself? That is always a nice thing to do and it makes your mommy and daddy happy, right?"

"That's right." Kaitlyn said, remembering.

"But if you had drawn us a picture everyday that you were in school, what would have happened? Indeed we would have loved every single one of them, but after a while it would be understandable if our zeal for the gift would diminish. Not only that, but we would have had run out of places to stick them on the walls." He said carefully, explaining it in a way that Kaitlyn could understand.

"Oh, I get it now. My hand would really start to hurt after a while, too!" She exclaimed brightly, nodding.

Clive smiled sadly at the mention of the pain in her hand. "Yes, like that. People can be nice to other people, and people can be happy and be nice back, but for some people, like the Duke, they only have a limited amount of nice in them before it begins to hurt. It depends on the person, I suppose, but if everybody was nice to each other all the time, then being nice would have no value, I believe."

Kaitlyn looked at the reception desk. There was a big ink bottle there with a large yellow feather resting inside the short stubby neck of the bottle, filled with thick black fluid. She wanted to pick up and play with the feather, but was afraid that she'd tip over the bottle and get yucky black ink all over her pretty blue dress. She looked back towards her parents solemnly. "I want mommy and daddy to be nice to each other forever. I wish…" She said, closing her eyes.

She wished it would be true.

Clive patted her on the back gently. "Granted." He said, and smiled.


End file.
